Fundamental keys; noir

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say

I get up from the tree and start going back down the path. And keep going.

It seems the heat has caught up with me; I go too fast and yet still I go. Just go. Want to get back, now, so, I focus on the sound of the ground under my feet

and ignore the dizziness that overcomes me—

just focus on the sound when my shoe hits the ground

...only it can’t override nor drown that I hear him call to me and have to run suddenly

I don’t think I can run faster than him, I just want to run 

but I don’t plan what I will do when he catches up

so when he does and pulls me to stop, we collide —which knocks the wind out of me

and notice stars cover my vision as I fall down

Like a split/that I don’t care, even as I hear his voice raised at me in alarm— I hardly notice as I try to breath

hear him tell me what to do

hear him tell me.

I just look at him then as that part follows instructions to do what he says. And do, just do and seem not to panic. Seem not to. Must never; never show ....and hold onto the walls

It seems I breath easy again and then he says,
“why did you take off like that?”

I shake my head,
“I told you, I’m hungry....” I stare into his eyes

He shakes his head,
“I don’t think that’s it.”

I push against him to stand up and get dizzy and fall against him,
“see, I’m hungry....” I say even as it isn’t really what I think but it’s not his business; he has no right, so I can say what ever I want to because I don’t want him in my head. He has no right. How dare he? How dare he.... he thinks he knows? He doesn’t know. He can’t know. How dare he think so? How dare he. Fuck him, how dare he....

“Why won’t you answer the question?” he asks

“What question?”

“That I just asked you.”

“What was it? The one about my mother and how I was invisible to her and would float in and out of existence?” I laugh, “I don’t know what you mean—“ I push him away, “it’s hot, can we go? You must be hungry too—let’s go make dinner—there’s broccoli—let’s make couscous—“

“The Little Mermaid....” he says it flat and his eyes watch my eyes and it is how sharp their edge can reach deep inside that cuts me right open and I feel my head go light as it hits my solar plexus

I run out of breath

One cannot escape one’s personal fundamental truth

“The original story did not end happy.... “ I say for any excuse to say anything except what it is he fishes for because it is my personal right. I can defend it. I will defend it. And nothing else matters.

Still. I realize as my mind begins to clear that he will not give up —not now; I think this now— this actually makes it worse—shit, what have I done?.... think....fuck, what now

“That disc your father gave you—“

He shakes his head and turns my face to him and forces me to look at him. Again the stare. I  turn my head; he pulls it back.

I look away with my eyes

“Look at me,” he says

“Please, can we go?” I ask him as a chill passes through me

I hear him say softly under his breath,

“‘I won’t come out, you must come in to me....’”

I feel another chill and look at him now. I shake my head,

“no....” I say but it comes out too small. As if I cannot speak. I say instead, “I told you the code was written backwards ....it wouldn’t have opened the safe.... I spelled the codes backwards.”

He draws his brows,
“you remembered the codes?”

“They’re all backwards,” I say and close my eyes as I play the piece in my mind ....right hand; thumb, middle finger, pinkie ....Beethoven ....left hand.... thumb ....as I fall down he catches me before I hit the ground 

Electra’s dictionary Level 2: a mutated voice; Noir, the passage through silence (jm muse chronicles)

We decide to hike the nearby trail because there has been some relief from the heat due to the rain

rain is beautiful when it’s like this —if it wasn’t for the lightning; how much I do love getting soaked ....and the sound of rain when it comes down hard as if it can drown out all the bad in the world ....and I can lose myself in it

It has been 93F/33C and I feel glad for the break to get out in this especially because I want to avoid thinking about my daughter’s birthday

by afternoon it is clear for awhile to hike, the ground hardly damp at all

He says suddenly as we walk through the woods,

“You once said that you used to think that you were invisible —unless your mother saw you....” Jörn looks at me strangely

“Why do you say this?” I ask him

“You’ve been so distant lately,” he says

“but I can say the same about you,” I stop to look at him because it is true as it has bothered me —only I’d never say unless he said it first

“There is just a lot going on —you know, that I can’t talk about with ....”he shrugs as he considers and looks into the trees momentarily distracted in this

“The world?” I say to finish his sentence

“I was going to say ‘work’ but, yes, the world.... politics —” he grimaces with a note of frustrated disgust and then he looks at me now and reaches to brush an insect off my face that just landed there but then says, “oh I forgot —that reminds me; I was supposed to give you something that my father gave me for you when I saw him—“

“W-wait—what? When you saw him....?” I stare at him directly to ask the question without words and dare him with my eyes meeting the kryptonite sharply. To say. And look boldly at him. And his eyes tell me. He does not look away and does not deny what I imply, and I take a deep breath to say, “so they were right....” and I think about Smulagan and that day and even as I knew this anyway but —he never said after and so now letting out the deep breath I say with calm resignation, “well.... I guess I knew I was ....lying ....for you....” and look down as now I stop to consider,

then say,

“so ....what is it he gave you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s something on a disc that he seemed to think you would want and I keep forgetting to give it to you,” he tells me and takes my hand impulsively to pull me along in another direction, “so remind me when we get back because he keeps asking me if I gave it to you.”

but then we hear sounds in the leaves; that sound— as they rustle as if in haste something goes. We stop to be quiet to listen and we wait ....and watch for wild life

suddenly when he starts to go towards it I pull him back

“Wait—!“ I say like he’s crazy

“Shh....!” he is annoyed “oh, you just scared it away!” he exclaims in disappointment as we hear something take off

“It could be a skunk, don’t you smell that?” I ask him

but instead it is a redfox that we now see leap off into and out of the path with some kind of prey and Jörn laughs at me saying, “in daylight?” after it’s gone because I jumped as it came out of the brush

and makes it worse by running a branch up my arm so that I let out a scream as it felt like a spider crawling up my skin

“That’s not funny,” I say

But he laughs anyway

“Why did you think you were invisible?” he asks after we walk on

“I have been distant you say ....and you ask this.... how does that follow?”

“Because you’ve been talking in your sleep again,” he says as we go up a small hill as I stop to take a picture of the trees and how the sun light looks through the branches ....and the leaves; the lush, deep, dark, forest, green

“Have I?oh God—!what do I say?!” feeling my skin burn with embarrassment

He shakes his head,
“I can’t understand it— it comes out like mumbles. It sounds like ‘remus’ ....You did it more when we first came up here, though. And when you were ill, when your fever went up.”

We get to a clearing up at the peak that overlooks a nice view. There are trees with thick trunks and long, heavy branches and now I go over to one and touch the coarse texture with my hands and decide to sit down upon its thick roots and lean in to and against it. I always feel such peace around old trees. They are so very old, aren’t they? they always seem so wise to me; like vampires; such ancient souls to look up to

“Remus,” he says again and sits down next to me as I feel him look at me in that way.... that way that he does .... like when he tries to solve things, dissecting my brain methodically as if he has diagrams with the parts he thinks he’s got already figured out

“Tell me, Jörn, is this out of spy fascination or is it something else? Is it just some weird proclivity of yours to need to figure me out? Or is it that it bothers you that the safe is now back in your country?”

“Yes it bothers me! It’s not their case!” he says suddenly fired up

I pull back suddenly and look at him,
“well, even I can see it involves international intelligence, how can you say that like that?”

He doesn’t answer at first but seems almost to twitch in irritation about it with a scowl, then after a moment he says,
“it was my case and —I was close to —figuring something out! ....and now they have something —they— can never figure out.”

“Don’t you think that is what they would prefer?” I ask him and look at him but then get caught and then lost in his eyes; caught between what I see and what is behind that bewitching stare

“Remus.... duva.... ? what does ‘remus’ mean?” he persists as if he already knows

but my stomach growls

“Are you hungry?” I ask glad to change the subject, “it’s getting late,” I start to get up but he stops me

“That’s what you’re saying—isn’t it....?” and studies my eyes

“Well if you already knew ....” I shrug giving up and let him pull me back. I look back at him, “ok, what? Since you know. What....?”

He thinks about it and says it again to himself but then I am annoyed now and look at the view instead until finally I say,

“you know .... I told you ....once before.”

“The story ....” he says now as he remembers, “he would read to you ....during your secret visits with him,” and he smiles as he figures it out as it seems to always give him that sense of accomplishment when a pin drops into place

I don’t deny it and just keep watching the horizon as I wonder what he will decide to conclude about it

“Uncle Remus....” he chuckles to himself and shakes his head, “she told you he wasn’t real— that it never happened .... after.... when he stopped coming....”

“The year before he died....” I fill in the rest

“He was ill,” he says thoughtfully, “yes.... was that— before or after ....your visit that time with your mother to Sweden?” he suddenly asks

I hadn’t expected him to say that

so why do I get such a chill?

“What?” I ask confused at his reasoning

“You said the book he gave you disappeared too after.... “ but now as he stares at me I see he has that moment of an epiphany and

 ....my mouth goes dry

I reach for the water bottle to drink and turn away from his penetrating stare; like blinding gestapo, interrogation lights that turn a different, more brilliant hue in the sunlight

“What other stories did he read to you?”

I shrug and drink some more water and shake my head

but he reaches now for me with his hand and with such a gentle caress—along with his voice that has softened to a kind of purr

“is that when you left her in there?” he asks

a little noir

“We are so serious,” he says to me suddenly

and then I feel myself blush when he says something into my ear and I think that he is just kidding ....

“give me five minutes,” he says

“No—wait....” but I shake my head and look away as I try not to laugh —but laugh anyway and have to cover my face as I mumble, “no way.... you are crazy, I don’t know if I am emotionally stable enough to handle that right now—“

“Five minutes,” he says but now he thinks it is funny because he sees me blush, “it’s not like it’s anything new,” he laughs wickedly

“No—gosh, is this your idea of a welcome home?”

Noir/Of guides as light (Electra’s dictionary, JM muse chronicles) 9 Jun 2020

I watch the moon. it is where I find my peace….

—Electra

*****

“How old were you when you first realized that you were psychic?” Jörn asks me when he finds me staring at the moon

“I don’t think I’m psychic,” I say caught by surprise by his sudden appearance as he got another phone call and my thoughts became so still and so dark

“Well, since I have known you I have heard you say things ....and write about them too —before they happened....” he looks at me with a strange expression; as if — no, I don’t understand his look....”It seems sometimes like madness or jibberish —like you are still dreaming or lost in thought,” he says, “but then a day later it happens....” he watches my eyes as he says this as if looking for the answer  and he shudders suddenly

“Am I so creepy, Jörn?” I suddenly chuckle at him ....but, he is right. It is just not something I mention to anyone.

He still looks intently into me with his brows creased and that stare he does

“You surprise me, Jörn. You who are so logical and rational asking about this,” I say

“I went to your psychic friend didn’t I?” he asks me “why do you say it’s such a surprise? Because I’m Swedish?”

I laugh at him,
“yes.”

“We invented paganism—“ he says

“No, you didn’t,” I laugh some more, “tell that to the Druids!”

“So....?” he shrugs at me and sits beside me on the deck where I watch the moon

“It is more like .... I get visions, it isn’t like ‘all knowing of things’ although .... I feel a lot of it in here,” I take his hand and place it on my abdomen, “I can feel it— people too; I feel beneath their surface when they are in front of me physically .... how old? Always. It’s always been a part of me and I thought everyone was like this. I used to answer people’s thoughts until I realized people resent it so I learned not to keep doing that ....”

“So, your dreams about ....”

“Oh. You mean—“ but I stop to look into him and have to pull back and take his hand where it lays still against me. I take his hand but watch his eyes as I do and touch along the length of his fingers to press his fingertips against my lips and close my eyes as I recall the dream and put my forehead then into his hand and against my cheek then open my eyes. “Yes.... it was like that when I saw you the first time. The feeling connected instantly to the dream. But why do you ask me now after all this time? You never ask me things like this.”

He puts his fingers through mine as he leans against the outside wall of the house where we sit and looks up at the moon and finally says,

“just because I don’t talk about things does not mean I don’t think them. Or feel them. And these are such strange times .... duva.... those things you think about .... and write about .... maybe I should tell you that —I’m glad you do. And maybe I need that about you.”

in search of dawn

it is the silence within the darkness.

it has no name.

it is a lost memory

  when hopelessness washes across the sand and pulls the wreckage’s skeletal frame, she calls to father to an empty horizon like a reflex that grasps to a sinking ship

we bid her safe passage to that underworld —sometimes his voice says her name and recalls her to herself again and illuminates his constant presence at her side he says, “it was true and real, so hold what you remember me and know I just ran out of time but I watch over you” he shows her his own faults and asks for her forgiveness .... this is how her story is not like Persephone who took the poison seeds

she says to him:

I cannot see beyond this darkness

but sadly he only says, “that is why you’re dawn, it is up to you to find the light”

the father of thought

“mass action is the most powerful force on earth. As long as it’s within the law, it’s not wrong; if the law is wrong, change the law” — Adam Clayton Powell Jr.

Anomie; (jm muse chronicles Noir) Electra’s dictionary vol.2

the atmosphere of —the world and even more especially ....amongst communities has begun to make me feel like I am suffocating.... the oppression ....I feel like I need to run and never stop, just never ever stop; such a desperate need, this feeling, to get out of here.... but I know there is nowhere to go; yet still — there is such a desperate need to run

********


it is soon after he starts the shower


“Where did you go?” I ask Jörn

“Where?”

“Where have you been?” I rephrase

but he gets a call just then

“I have to take this,” he tells me; he shuts off the shower and gives me ‘that look’ which by now I recognize to mean it is about business; his spy work.

he answers the call with a quick,

“—hold on a minute,” and a glance at me

I can hear the male voice with a hard to place accent say from his phone in English,

“I am sorry to have to call you but something has come up—“

Jörn goes downstairs and I watch him from the gallery as he walks through the house. I watch him as he goes outside, through the two story window and walk from the back patio of the house go down the path towards the farmhouse

and after he goes I decide to return to the shower

When he returns from his call, I have already by then dried off and found a simple white t-shirt to wear over a pair of drawstring yoga pants and, as I see his face now in the fading light, I can see the tension in his expression and, as well, his closed demeanor that implies he is not able to say what the call was about

so instead I decide to ask,

“how serious were you about going somewhere else?”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like I need to get out of here.”

“But you always say that after you have only been somewhere for just more than a few months.”

“I have been in New York for almost two years now ....what about Maine? I know Portland is not exactly a big city but it is like the furthest edge out of this country before the Atlantic Ocean and —still close to Canada for— whatever it is you do there ....in case Amsterdam isn’t in the cards, I mean.”

“Does this have anything to do with this?”

Jörn holds up the letter.... I realize he found in the farmhouse where I must have left it

“—this sudden need to run away .... is this why you have been acting so strange?”

And when I don’t answer he says, almost apologetically

“I didn’t know what it was— as it was not addressed to anyone and wasn’t signed. I found it in the farmhouse and ....well,  thought it was something I left, otherwise I would not have ....it is from your daughter, I assume?”

“No it —was not even addressed nor signed....” I whisper and sink down to the nearest level place to sit which.... is the foot of the staircase

I feel myself go sick inside and along with it, the weird sensation in my head

“You read it?”

“.... I just.... skimmed through it—until I realized what it was....”

“Shit....” I whisper to myself

“At least she contacted you,” Jörn says

“It was a ‘fuck-you’ letter, Jörn....” I say with resignation and defeat; “a ‘fuck-you-mom letter’....” I say plainly, “meant to coincide with Mother’s Day —poetic, right? —for added punch.... I didn’t get the mail for a week so.... I guess I dodged that poison arrow ....”

“Did you answer it?” he asks me

I cannot look at him. And look away and say more to myself,

“.... ja ....”

and slowly exhale.

As I feel his eyes on me I realize he wants to know. And I guess that surprises me, somehow,

as it is a strange thought to me

that he ....


would want to know


I look at his eyes. I try to read them for judgement

and as I do I force myself to raise up my chin as if I don’t care what he thinks.... only I do.... I care more than he could know

....if his judgement is as harsh as hers; only —I pretend not to care and that it does not matter what he thinks

I see he still waits to know

“It was not —like hers.... what I wrote.... I .... did not let myself reply ....with raw emotion ....I ....thanked her for her honesty and told her that I respected whatever her wishes were to have me or not in her life, I ....was diplomatic—“ the words rush out to sound brave but i hear my voice crack at the end and stop myself in time. I say, “maybe.... I think I have to put it behind me.... I think it’s time.... that I need to move on.... from my past....all of it....”

“She may come around—“

“It—does not seem that way to me, Jörn,” I tell him honestly, “I do know her.... and I can read between her lines. She —my daughter—holds grudges ....forever, she does not ....forgive, it is her way. I am history to her.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, “you’re her mother.”

I shake my head, and after a pause to collect myself I say,
“I can’t keep waiting for her forever.... so.... I know ....I must figure out a way ....past this....”

He shakes his head and asks, waving the letter,
“If I hadn’t found this, when were you going to tell me—? or were you?—is this why you have not let me near you?”