Electra’s dictionary; Spy in the house of love/strip poker Noir

 

“Red follows grey across the air,

    The waves of moonlight ebb and flow

    But with the Dawn she does not go

And in the night-time she is there.

Dawn follows Dawn and Nights grow old....” 

                         —from The Sphinx

By Oscar Wilde

—and in trying to read between the lines, sunk in the nebulous morass, later

....it is only when he is inside me that he says,

“you won’t tell me....”

he takes this moment to press this and .... to drive it in

to press the question .... 

and although I realize he is always rational, in moments like these I can feel something that he never usually exposes —but later I always forget ....this 

I suspect even as I know why now this should be true but —I suppose if it was not something I understood in myself that .... I could almost easily overlook this about him; this awareness 

but I do not answer.... partly because I am somewhat caught up.... in his motions and —partly because I use this for excuse to hide

what does his rhetorical question mean? only, this too I understand .... because there is always another conversation going on with Jörn.... the more important conversation .... the one that is never said aloud with words .... but it is always going on and is loudly somehow expressed .... in that intrinsic way .... that he has. I have found about him, it is all in his subtleties —oh, those subtleties .... how much goes on below the surface .... those mute suggestions that seem —on the surface— something that it is easy to wonder if it is something I have imagined— but .... as it is so constant about him.... I cannot make the mistake to ignore .... and so like a spy! to only wish to convey without ever having to admit anything 

again he says it,

“you won’t say....” and this time with a measured tone, coupled expertly with his calculated physical motion and with it, as well, the added touch of his mouth from behind my ear to my lips and only when he is granted the aimed response does he intensify his purpose until I am forced to answer 

“Why should I....? I don’t know what you mean....”

again —pressing— his advantage he says,

“you still don’t trust me,” but still it is not a question 

“It is not that ....” and only thus caught up within this aura he exudes, only obvious in coitus am I ever acutely aware of the rawness behind it which is easy to otherwise miss as he does not, by habit, let show

“No?” he asks

it is when I start to say, 

“you hide behind your spy persona—“ that he pushes me up against the headboard using his body to impale with the same calculations of practiced technique he does in everything— but now for his personal interest to cross examine; he  searches my eyes and it is only because I understand that hidden language of his kryptonite do I finally ..... see something unintended of a hint there exposed 

but I say,

“no —you— will not say....” only I am meaning something else and stare back at him knowing there is nothing between us —not here in this moment; as there is no way to hide myself; he knows every move to undo me—which he does.... more than once. And only after the third or forth does the resistance exhaust for me to finally say, “you refuse to acknowledge....”

“Acknowledge what?”

 “—that you need .... or even that I matter to you— to....”

a poet in a virtual world

like adverts on a train with eyes avert 

look not at the leer of the grim-reaper, casting shadows everywhere 

little lights that flicker past from some faraway train as it passes,

glimmer and ricochet the walls their whispers of hope

even though shuffled in invisible irrelevance, as thrown 

into this strange norm, what’s become the daily apathy 

here cast in a virtual overcrowded commuter train

On a virtual transit ride 

                                            ….to nowhere 

in a world unseen somewhere among the crowd lost

scrolled anonymous finds his message left on the virtual subway wall

…..and suddenly, much less alone 

so, with fingers pressed to fog a print replies her message on the wall 

in the fog

Electra’s dictionary; Scene Noir: sparring humor/hidden foreshadows (where life and dictionary overlap jm muse chronicles)

 

the pendulum of highs and lows seems to have blown all sails off course 

....it seems lately like I am standing outside of myself, watching from far away, even occupied in whatever the task being done—like watching myself from a surveillance camera.... watching with no connection....no meaning

I have been wishing I could hop a magic carpet ride to some other time or universe.... 

and now, on top of it all, am aware I have developed a new phobia of people; as in encountering —or being anywhere a mile near —to the point, I fear I am becoming something freakish, when before it was only shyness, now I think it is become something dangerously close to certifiable  

So.... it occurs to me now it has been a long while since I have been drunk or otherwise inebriated—maybe it is long overdue; perhaps it is time for a bender....

gripping the dictionary, Electra,  dearest, to hazard sense of present life ....dear dictionary....

*****

Jörn goes for an early run, and is gone for awhile.... doing whatever it is he does during those morning, mystery phone-call jogs; wearing the mobile headgear apparatus while having conversations around the globe .....shifting chess pieces, bit and gold bullion. Who knows what else 

The interruption of recent events of life which, on one hand, has kept him physically away but also in the other, with the preoccupation of other things, allowed me the excuse for the reconstruction of walls 

****

It is much later when Jörn finds me in the cage packing up and going through pending orders and seems surprised

“You’ve been busy,” he says as I notice he is still in his black ninja running clothes 

“It’s been steady. Paula is surprised,” I say

“Le Chevalier line?”

I stop what I’m doing and smile,

“not to brag.... eighty percent profit from last year, just by the addition of the new line.”

He comes over to look over my shoulder on the computer screen. I look up at him,

“I know you just wanted all this as a front for —well, whatever it is you do....” I say and try to read his expression 

He shrugs and straightens up before he walks around to look over the neat stack of packed up boxes of orders and turns to glance at the loaded conveyor belt,

“I’m .... impressed. I guess I never expected you to be so industrial....” he walks towards the conveyor belt to get a closer look, “....eighty percent?” 

“I’m used to keeping busy. Since we left the city, not having the Ethan estate to occupy myself .... it’s just nervous energy. Does it bother you?”

He turns to look at me from where he’s standing, across the distance through the cage door,

“why should it bother me? Maybe we should be partners,” he says lightly and walks back, “but I think your real talent is being wasted.”

“What’s that?”

But he just shrugs and comes over and says into my ear,

“by the way: you left the pantry trap-door open back at the barn-house. That is how I found you. If you want my plans of protection to be effective, you need to remember to —and make a habit of—closing it.”

“Oh....” I consider this....  “yes. I didn’t .... think about —that.... well.... it just suddenly occurred to me to use it as now I know how convenient it is to go between the barn house to the farm house ....” and look up at him .... 

as I realize .... not for the first time either.... 

the key to communicating with Jörn is always .... in his subtle hints 

he’s trying to tell me something 

he does not ever say straight out what he really means

But he does always say .... what he means .... 

especially when it is important to be said. But you have to search deeper for his meanings which on the surface is not always the obvious and not always clear 

but at the moment....I guess I am busy thinking about a million other things. Without really wanting to be thinking at all. Wishing, instead, that I could get caught up in some mindless distraction 

as if it were possible to turn off thoughts and redirect them that easily 

now leaning over me where I now sit to process a shipping label, “you’re miles away,” he says

“And you should talk? You who are, no doubt, deeply involved with the world’s game of chess .... hacking and hatching political schemes—I’m surprised you find the time to wonder about my mental mileage.” 

but even saying this exhausts me and feel the need to collapse into my arms and let out a heavy sigh, “I’m just wiped out....maybe it’s ‘long Covid’ or something, I don’t know....”

“Maybe you need your snack —what was it? Ground cacao was it— and honey? —you do know honey isn’t vegan.”

“You called me vegan— I never said I was....I just don’t eat things with families.”

“But you don’t mind robbing from the bees?” he asks. 

I know he’s teasing even as he keeps a serious tone and expression

“You think they mind?  —don’t you think they would fly away?” I ask and then say, “you don’t have to answer that. I know you think I have selective morality but beekeepers are helping to preserve an endangered species—and I know you also think my logic is crazy....”

He shakes his head, as he walks back over to look at the orders lined up on the conveyor belt, he seems to be holding in a laugh,

“When did I ever suggest you had selective morality?— or that I thought your logic was crazy?”

“Well you do. Don’t you? I can see by how you look at me—“ I say watching him

“How I look at you—?” he comes back over

“You’re doing it now—“

“You’re misreading me, then,” he laughs at me “are you sure you’re not projecting? I think I know what the problem is....” he leans over me and says something into my ear

******

as was before 

so does 

it now remain

more still 

the need of you 

contemplations in a world of plague; a hope for healing

(today’s fleeting reflection)

as Boccaccio and Dante referred to the Black Plague in their works, their reflective interpretations, seems to me, to have been tinged with their views of spirituality and humanity’s need for atonement. I do not pretend to feel secure of what is going on now in our world 

the sad reality is that life begins and ends and always has and —it is never equal how, nor how long each one of any living thing has ....and this has been the way since all existence of physical life. And, the spiritual realm, I dare to suggest, has the final say. And as we live, it is the brutality of life that we have to endure

 —and I guess I believe as long as there is the chance to reach outside; without; for a purer state, and strive to forge on, hopefully driven by something other than material greed —toward something higher than personal ....given the opportunity in the time allotted 

despite ....whatever the powers that may be present in our material world, as I really think all that is really just tedious stuff and nonsense.... 

were this a portal

 

for despite whatever the proximity, may well be another galaxy, 

how far away, the distant sea, would that communication bend

Electra’s dictionary, noir Halloween hauntings; jm chronicles/next scene

 

(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.”