Will they?

“If I know a song of Africa,

of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back,

of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces

of the coffee pickers,

does Africa know a song of me?

 

Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on,

or the children invent a game in which my name is,

or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me,

or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?”

 

From OUT OF AFRICA by Isak Dinesen (1885-1962), chapter titled “Kamante and Lulu,” page 83.

 

 

Dream

Dream

The water kept rising until everything was covered by it. He looked around and could not see land anywhere. He stared at the sky. It must have been late afternoon, but the sun was still so bright that the surface of the water looked yellow.

He started swimming slowly in the yellow sea, dreaming about his rescue. No land anywhere…

When he suddenly felt something solid on his feet, he thought he could step on it to rest. To his disappointment it was a fish passing by. He could not tell how big it was, because it moved away very fast.

It became dark. He was tired and cold. He tried to stay awake for awhile by looking at the moon. He has not seen such beautiful moon in his life. Right before he was about to close his eyes, myriads of flowers and green leaves started falling from the sky. It seemed as if someone was throwing them from the moon… In few minutes he was surrounded by colorful flowers. They  were glowing like little stars all around him, keeping him awake till dawn, till he drowned.

“Luc! You will be late to work.” Marcelle said, as she rushed into the bedroom to get her shoes. “Your coffee is ready. I will see you at lunch”.

Some nights Luc still stares at the sky waiting for those flowers to fall, and dreaming about Marcelle coming back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mirror.

Mirror.

There was a young woman who lived on my street. You could watch her early in the morning drinking coffee by her bedroom window or at night walking her dog at the near by park. Her hat was almost hiding the calmness of her face which made her look like a young girl.

She started studying at the local university, but because money had been tight she spent most of her time helping her father at his small accounting office. On Friday evenings she would stop by the flower shop next door to get fresh flowers for their dinner table.

That evening, as she was searching for the keys to her apartment, she heard the voice of a man calling her name. She looked quickly towards the street and kept searching. She finally opened the door. He ran behind her and asked to come in. She walked inside the house and left the door wide open.

“Where have you been?”, she whispered, as she walked towards the kitchen to get water for the flowers.

“You know”.

“I have not heard from you for years…Why did you come back?”, she asked, as she was putting the vase with the flowers on the dining table.

“I told you that I will come back some day!”.

She took off her shoes and walked slowly towards the bathroom. Her image in the mirror started becoming one with the wall behind her, as her tears started running on her face. For a moment she really believed that he was there, behind her…

Breakfast

 
 
 

“Are you leaving Luc?” the host of the party yelled.

 “Yes! Will call tomorrow!”, Luc yelled back as he was leaving the crowd behind him, and started running down the stairs.

 Marcelle took a deep breath, buttoned her coat, and looked at her watch. It was8 o’clock. “I should get some tea before I go home”, she whispered, as she was leaving her dark office behind her and started walking towards the bus station.

She was counting her steps ( …., nine, ten, eleven, …) when she felt his shadow.
“Hi, I am Luc. May I walk you home?”.
“My home is two miles from here. I am taking the bus”, said Marcelle with a quiet laugh. 
“I need a walk. Walk with me!”
And so they walked, for two miles and two years.

Maybe because they found each other on Christmas eve, their life together was like the eve of a holiday. An eve that never turned into a real holiday, since one morning, during breakfast in the sunroom her father built for her when she was a child, Marcelle started chasing her dreams into Luc’s silence.
 

(By  J. Prévert)

Déjeuner du matin
Il a mis le café
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et il a reposé la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allumé
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s’est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu’il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi j’ai pris
Ma tête dans mes mains
 
Et j’ai ri.

___________

(Pardonnez-moi Monsieur J. Prévert)

____________

He poured the coffee
Into the cup
He put the milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
Into the coffee with milk
With a small spoon
He stirred
He drank the coffee
And he put down the cup
Without speaking to me
He lighted
A cigarette
He made circles
With the smoke
He shook off the ash
Into the ashtray
Without speaking to me
Without looking at me
He got up
He put
A hat on his head
He put on
A raincoat
Because it was raining
And he left
In the rain
Without a word
Without looking at me
And I buried
My face in my hands

And I laughed.

 _________
As soon as Luc left, Marcelle went out to do her daily shopping. They never saw each other again.

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