#review #story #Florence
A Secret Diary
My wristwatch showed 9.30 am when the train halted at Siliguri station. A minute later, at the whistle of the guard, the train cooed and moved forward belching out clouds of grey smoke towards the blissful blue sky. I was lucky enough to get a window seat and was already mesmerized by the unparalleled scenic beauty of the snow-capped hills. Throughout the two hour journey, I didn't blink even for a second for fear of missing out the exciting and spectacular views the idyllic location offered. The vintage toy train chugged its way through the bustle of the bazaar, sometimes parallel to the roads, often halted at quaint little stations and at other times moved upward in zig zags. Looking down to the deep treacherous valley made me dizzy. I felt like falling into a seemingly endless abyss. The loco curved up and around the hill before steaming into the final station. "Welcome to Darjeeling," the gentle female voice announced. No sooner had the train halted than the passengers rushed to get out. As I was in no hurry I waited till the crowd settled. The tonga services waited outside the station to pick up the passengers and some of them haggled over the fare. As I was strapped for cash I preferred to take a 2kms walk with my backpack to the cottage atop of the hill. The morning breeze tingled my cheeks. As I walked through the narrow path flanked by tea gardens, I witnessed scores of women indulged in plucking leaves with huge baskets on their back and merrily humming the lore of bygone heroes. The strong aroma of the tea leaves and the occasional humming of cuckoos pervaded the place. The sky started turning sapphire, unblemished and cloudless. The whole place was throbbing with tranquillity and I felt like I was in heaven. I stopped at a board which read "Oasis Cottage." It directed me to take the left. I continued walking around 50 metres or so to finally arrive at the cottage. There was not a soul in sight!
"Sahib.." I turned to see a man in shabby clothes and turban tied around his head.
"Jeremy Brooks", I introduced myself.
He nodded as if recognizing me and uttered rather politely, "but you are a week early, sir. The cleaning is still going on."
"It's okay. Could you please tell me where I can find Mr Arthur Harley?"
"Hey Brooks, what a surprise! You little punk, you said next week", Harley appeared out of nowhere and punched me in my tummy.
"Yeah. A slight change of plans. The baby is due in two weeks and Daisy really expects me."
"Oh, I see. Ram, tidy up the pace. We'll be right back."
Ram nodded yes and rushed in. Harley was living nearby and he took me to his home. After helping ourselves with a sumptuous meal, I left for the cottage. The living room was crowded with furniture and old paintings. Hung from the ceiling was a colourful lantern to lighten up the interior at night. I went to the bedroom upstairs and ensconced myself under the warm blankets.
"Sahib, the tea is served.. would you like me to take it upstairs?" Ram's yelling interrupted my siesta. I came down to see him patiently waiting for me with a cup of famous Darjeeling tea. I inhaled the aroma before taking a sip. Then, I rang Daisy to say everything was alright. The day was drawing to a close and the setting sun drenched everything in evanescing vermilion hue. I told Ram to not make supper and retired to my bedroom. As it had been a long day I laid down and closed my eyes. The husky rustling of the leaves and the soft whistling of the chilly wind lulled me to sleep.
The next morning I woke up to see everything covered in snow. The weather was unpredictable. Yesterday the place was sun-soaked and now it's snow-clad! Ram brought me tea and said, "I shouted and screamed to show you the snowfall but you didn't wake up."
"I hit the bed early, Ram. I was dog-tired. Be sure to call me if it snows tonight."
"Sure, Sahib", and he withdrew to the kitchen.
Having finished my tea I decided to explore the home a bit. It was at least 25 years old and was generous with windows and off-white curtains which
A Secret Diary
My wristwatch showed 9.30 am when the train halted at Siliguri station. A minute later, at the whistle of the guard, the train cooed and moved forward belching out clouds of grey smoke towards the blissful blue sky. I was lucky enough to get a window seat and was already mesmerized by the unparalleled scenic beauty of the snow-capped hills. Throughout the two hour journey, I didn't blink even for a second for fear of missing out the exciting and spectacular views the idyllic location offered. The vintage toy train chugged its way through the bustle of the bazaar, sometimes parallel to the roads, often halted at quaint little stations and at other times moved upward in zig zags. Looking down to the deep treacherous valley made me dizzy. I felt like falling into a seemingly endless abyss. The loco curved up and around the hill before steaming into the final station. "Welcome to Darjeeling," the gentle female voice announced. No sooner had the train halted than the passengers rushed to get out. As I was in no hurry I waited till the crowd settled. The tonga services waited outside the station to pick up the passengers and some of them haggled over the fare. As I was strapped for cash I preferred to take a 2kms walk with my backpack to the cottage atop of the hill. The morning breeze tingled my cheeks. As I walked through the narrow path flanked by tea gardens, I witnessed scores of women indulged in plucking leaves with huge baskets on their back and merrily humming the lore of bygone heroes. The strong aroma of the tea leaves and the occasional humming of cuckoos pervaded the place. The sky started turning sapphire, unblemished and cloudless. The whole place was throbbing with tranquillity and I felt like I was in heaven. I stopped at a board which read "Oasis Cottage." It directed me to take the left. I continued walking around 50 metres or so to finally arrive at the cottage. There was not a soul in sight!
"Sahib.." I turned to see a man in shabby clothes and turban tied around his head.
"Jeremy Brooks", I introduced myself.
He nodded as if recognizing me and uttered rather politely, "but you are a week early, sir. The cleaning is still going on."
"It's okay. Could you please tell me where I can find Mr Arthur Harley?"
"Hey Brooks, what a surprise! You little punk, you said next week", Harley appeared out of nowhere and punched me in my tummy.
"Yeah. A slight change of plans. The baby is due in two weeks and Daisy really expects me."
"Oh, I see. Ram, tidy up the pace. We'll be right back."
Ram nodded yes and rushed in. Harley was living nearby and he took me to his home. After helping ourselves with a sumptuous meal, I left for the cottage. The living room was crowded with furniture and old paintings. Hung from the ceiling was a colourful lantern to lighten up the interior at night. I went to the bedroom upstairs and ensconced myself under the warm blankets.
"Sahib, the tea is served.. would you like me to take it upstairs?" Ram's yelling interrupted my siesta. I came down to see him patiently waiting for me with a cup of famous Darjeeling tea. I inhaled the aroma before taking a sip. Then, I rang Daisy to say everything was alright. The day was drawing to a close and the setting sun drenched everything in evanescing vermilion hue. I told Ram to not make supper and retired to my bedroom. As it had been a long day I laid down and closed my eyes. The husky rustling of the leaves and the soft whistling of the chilly wind lulled me to sleep.
The next morning I woke up to see everything covered in snow. The weather was unpredictable. Yesterday the place was sun-soaked and now it's snow-clad! Ram brought me tea and said, "I shouted and screamed to show you the snowfall but you didn't wake up."
"I hit the bed early, Ram. I was dog-tired. Be sure to call me if it snows tonight."
"Sure, Sahib", and he withdrew to the kitchen.
Having finished my tea I decided to explore the home a bit. It was at least 25 years old and was generous with windows and off-white curtains which
#review #shortstory #Florence
A Brief Encounter (part 1)
“221 B, Baker Street. What an unusual name for a coffee shop!” She thought as she crossed the road and walked to the coffee shop. “Maybe named after the legendary character or maybe the owner of the shop would be a great admirer”, she tried to find out the possible connections. The doorbell chimed as she opened the door. Having hung her coat on the hook, she glanced around for a place to sit. The place was rather uncrowded, given the popularity, as it’s not the peak hour. She chose an empty corner beside a window and ordered a tall espresso and a Baker special croissant. She looked out the window to see nothing exciting but the backyard of the cafe. “What good is a window if it doesn’t give you a view?” She muttered as she moved to the opposite end. She looked out to find the road empty with infrequent passing of one or two vehicles. It was a pleasant day with the clear sky except the sporadic drizzles. Opposite to the cafeteria was a lush green park which offered a breathtaking view of pink cherry blossom trees in rows which indeed were a feast for the eyes. She thought of the times when she played under the shades of cherry blossoms at her granny's home. She longed to return to those days when everything was merrier and how she lived without a care in the world. She resented how things had changed for worse.
“Madame?” a voice interrupted her childhood reveries.
“Madame, here is your order.”
“Thank you.”
“New to this place, madame?” the waitress asked her to strike a conversation as she had some time to kill.
“Yes.”
“Visiting?”
“No.”
The waitress thought it best to leave her alone sensing the melancholy around her from the monosyllabic replies. She explored the cafe sipping the cup of joe. It boasted neither neon signs nor flamboyant furniture. The red brick-walls, for the most part, were bare except a few paintings here and there. To her disappointment, there was nothing related to Holmes or his creator. This aroused her curiosity further to know the story behind the name. She gathered, despite all this, the cafe would be quite popular for its quaint atmosphere and the economy pricing. “Goodbye my love, my heart, my sweet..” Edith Piaf’s ballad was flowing along with the low murmurings of the people coming in and out. A young couple at the right end nibbling their food and saying sweet nothings to each other caught her eye. The young lady wore a cling dress with plunging neckline, a bit overdressed for a cafe. “Ten bucks says tonight is the night,” she mumbled to herself. Behind them was an old man with a receding hairline munching wafers and continuously cracked up by the jokes of his plump lady. She was completely unaware of the young lad making eyes at her ample bosom. The waitress who took her order flirted at the counter. She looked out of the window again to see a man in hat helping a blind beggar with clothes so threadbare cross the road. He also offered the beggar some coins and walked to the cafe. She looked rather curiously when the doorbell chimed to check if it was him. And yes, it was! He was tall, medium-built with a wheatish complexion. He hung his damp coat and looked around. She was seized with a desire to know more about him. As she was reluctant to make the first move, she pretended reading the paper biting the croissant.
“Excuse me, do you mind?” she looked up unexpectedly to find him waiting at her table. “Why? Why on earth would he come here when there are a lot of empty tables?” She thought as she rummaged around the place. She was surprised to see the place fully crowded. She gestured him to sit and sipped her coffee trying to avoid eye contact. The waitress came a moment later to take his order.
“Howdy sally?” asked he glancing through the menu.
Aye aye, sir. Pretty good.” she replied cheerfully.
“Well, I would like to have a latte and two raspberry macarons to go. Thank you.”
...(to be continued)
A Brief Encounter (part 1)
“221 B, Baker Street. What an unusual name for a coffee shop!” She thought as she crossed the road and walked to the coffee shop. “Maybe named after the legendary character or maybe the owner of the shop would be a great admirer”, she tried to find out the possible connections. The doorbell chimed as she opened the door. Having hung her coat on the hook, she glanced around for a place to sit. The place was rather uncrowded, given the popularity, as it’s not the peak hour. She chose an empty corner beside a window and ordered a tall espresso and a Baker special croissant. She looked out the window to see nothing exciting but the backyard of the cafe. “What good is a window if it doesn’t give you a view?” She muttered as she moved to the opposite end. She looked out to find the road empty with infrequent passing of one or two vehicles. It was a pleasant day with the clear sky except the sporadic drizzles. Opposite to the cafeteria was a lush green park which offered a breathtaking view of pink cherry blossom trees in rows which indeed were a feast for the eyes. She thought of the times when she played under the shades of cherry blossoms at her granny's home. She longed to return to those days when everything was merrier and how she lived without a care in the world. She resented how things had changed for worse.
“Madame?” a voice interrupted her childhood reveries.
“Madame, here is your order.”
“Thank you.”
“New to this place, madame?” the waitress asked her to strike a conversation as she had some time to kill.
“Yes.”
“Visiting?”
“No.”
The waitress thought it best to leave her alone sensing the melancholy around her from the monosyllabic replies. She explored the cafe sipping the cup of joe. It boasted neither neon signs nor flamboyant furniture. The red brick-walls, for the most part, were bare except a few paintings here and there. To her disappointment, there was nothing related to Holmes or his creator. This aroused her curiosity further to know the story behind the name. She gathered, despite all this, the cafe would be quite popular for its quaint atmosphere and the economy pricing. “Goodbye my love, my heart, my sweet..” Edith Piaf’s ballad was flowing along with the low murmurings of the people coming in and out. A young couple at the right end nibbling their food and saying sweet nothings to each other caught her eye. The young lady wore a cling dress with plunging neckline, a bit overdressed for a cafe. “Ten bucks says tonight is the night,” she mumbled to herself. Behind them was an old man with a receding hairline munching wafers and continuously cracked up by the jokes of his plump lady. She was completely unaware of the young lad making eyes at her ample bosom. The waitress who took her order flirted at the counter. She looked out of the window again to see a man in hat helping a blind beggar with clothes so threadbare cross the road. He also offered the beggar some coins and walked to the cafe. She looked rather curiously when the doorbell chimed to check if it was him. And yes, it was! He was tall, medium-built with a wheatish complexion. He hung his damp coat and looked around. She was seized with a desire to know more about him. As she was reluctant to make the first move, she pretended reading the paper biting the croissant.
“Excuse me, do you mind?” she looked up unexpectedly to find him waiting at her table. “Why? Why on earth would he come here when there are a lot of empty tables?” She thought as she rummaged around the place. She was surprised to see the place fully crowded. She gestured him to sit and sipped her coffee trying to avoid eye contact. The waitress came a moment later to take his order.
“Howdy sally?” asked he glancing through the menu.
Aye aye, sir. Pretty good.” she replied cheerfully.
“Well, I would like to have a latte and two raspberry macarons to go. Thank you.”
...(to be continued)
#review #shortstory #Florence
A Brief Encounter (part 2)
She assumed that he was a regular by the manner of their talking. She thought of asking about the history of the cafe but decided against it.
“Thank you for the seat,” he said.
“You are welcome,” she replied with feigned ignorance.
"How are you?”
“Very well, thanks.”
“I’m joe, by the way.”
“Aurelie."
“That’s a beautiful name just like you.”
“I don’t succumb to flattery.”
“Well, believe that you are not much of a talker, are you?”
“Basically, yes. I’m taciturn.”
“Okay. I’ll let you carry on then.”
“Okay.”
There was an awkward silence after this brief conversation.
The waitress came with his order and as she turned, her hand accidentally knocked the hat off his head revealing a tiny but cute umbrella drawing on his shaved-head. Having apologized, the waitress withdrew from the scene. Aurelie couldn't help but notice and burst into laughter. He bewildered what's wrong with her.
"I'm sorry", she laughed again and handed him a pocket mirror.
"Oh, this! Oh my gosh!" He joined her and they laughed their heart out.
"My three-year-old girl did this." He continued, "When I was about to leave home to buy her favourite macarons, she stopped me and said, "dadda, keep this umbrella in case it rains" and drew this on my head. I completely forgot about that."
"Such a lovely daughter!" She remarked.
"Yes, she is. I'm a single parent and I can't imagine a life without her. Anyways, I didn't take you for a jubilant person given your pensive look."
"Well, appearances are deceptive, you know."
And then they indulged in a jovial conversation and for a person looking from outside the window they seemed a perfect couple enjoying a peaceful evening.
"Do you have room for a caramel falafel, Aurélie?"
"Nah.. I'm full."
"Don't hesitate, it's on me."
"No. Seriously, I'm good.'
"So, shall we?"
"Yeah, sure."
They settled the bill and went out. The day was drawing to a close and everyone seemed hurrying home before the rain hit.
"So, here we are. Thank you for a lovely evening."
"You are a great person to have around. By the way, why 221 B Baker Street? Any idea?"
"The cafe has a painful past to tell. The founder of this cafe, when he was a child, was caught by the police and imprisoned for a day for stealing a loaf of bread which he meant to give his starving sister. He was so disheartened that he couldn't appease his sister's hunger. He came out of the prison deciding that he would take things in his hands and reach up to a position where he is well-treated. When he started the cafe after doing every odd jobs, he couldn't think of a better name than this because he was number 221 in the B block of the prison. The current proprietor is the great grandson of the founder."
"Wow! Heart touching indeed! A story of struggle and survival."
A clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning announced the arrival of rain and it was time for them to part ways.
He held her close and brushed her auburn curls off her cheeks. She let her mind float in ecstacy. The balmy wind caressed her and she felt that life had cast a certain chill.
"Our paths will cross again," assured he.
She just nodded and kept her lips sealed.
And then,
A gentle stroke and a tender kiss on the cheek- a perfect way to say goodbye.
-end-
A Brief Encounter (part 2)
She assumed that he was a regular by the manner of their talking. She thought of asking about the history of the cafe but decided against it.
“Thank you for the seat,” he said.
“You are welcome,” she replied with feigned ignorance.
"How are you?”
“Very well, thanks.”
“I’m joe, by the way.”
“Aurelie."
“That’s a beautiful name just like you.”
“I don’t succumb to flattery.”
“Well, believe that you are not much of a talker, are you?”
“Basically, yes. I’m taciturn.”
“Okay. I’ll let you carry on then.”
“Okay.”
There was an awkward silence after this brief conversation.
The waitress came with his order and as she turned, her hand accidentally knocked the hat off his head revealing a tiny but cute umbrella drawing on his shaved-head. Having apologized, the waitress withdrew from the scene. Aurelie couldn't help but notice and burst into laughter. He bewildered what's wrong with her.
"I'm sorry", she laughed again and handed him a pocket mirror.
"Oh, this! Oh my gosh!" He joined her and they laughed their heart out.
"My three-year-old girl did this." He continued, "When I was about to leave home to buy her favourite macarons, she stopped me and said, "dadda, keep this umbrella in case it rains" and drew this on my head. I completely forgot about that."
"Such a lovely daughter!" She remarked.
"Yes, she is. I'm a single parent and I can't imagine a life without her. Anyways, I didn't take you for a jubilant person given your pensive look."
"Well, appearances are deceptive, you know."
And then they indulged in a jovial conversation and for a person looking from outside the window they seemed a perfect couple enjoying a peaceful evening.
"Do you have room for a caramel falafel, Aurélie?"
"Nah.. I'm full."
"Don't hesitate, it's on me."
"No. Seriously, I'm good.'
"So, shall we?"
"Yeah, sure."
They settled the bill and went out. The day was drawing to a close and everyone seemed hurrying home before the rain hit.
"So, here we are. Thank you for a lovely evening."
"You are a great person to have around. By the way, why 221 B Baker Street? Any idea?"
"The cafe has a painful past to tell. The founder of this cafe, when he was a child, was caught by the police and imprisoned for a day for stealing a loaf of bread which he meant to give his starving sister. He was so disheartened that he couldn't appease his sister's hunger. He came out of the prison deciding that he would take things in his hands and reach up to a position where he is well-treated. When he started the cafe after doing every odd jobs, he couldn't think of a better name than this because he was number 221 in the B block of the prison. The current proprietor is the great grandson of the founder."
"Wow! Heart touching indeed! A story of struggle and survival."
A clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning announced the arrival of rain and it was time for them to part ways.
He held her close and brushed her auburn curls off her cheeks. She let her mind float in ecstacy. The balmy wind caressed her and she felt that life had cast a certain chill.
"Our paths will cross again," assured he.
She just nodded and kept her lips sealed.
And then,
A gentle stroke and a tender kiss on the cheek- a perfect way to say goodbye.
-end-
#review #shortstory #Florence
The Moonchild (1)
‘Sayanora, be safe’, he said and walked backwards.
‘Yes?’ she turned and they stumbled on each other causing the books on their hand to fall down.
‘Oops! Here you are’, he collected his journal and the books from the ground and gave it to her.
‘Sorry about that’, he apologized again.
‘No worries’, said she, ‘I should have been more careful. I thought I heard my name.’
‘Pardon?’ he puzzled for a moment.
‘I mean, someone called Sayanora and I turned back to see who it was.’
‘Oh! No, no, no, no, no. I was waving my mom goodbye. She is Spanish. Sayanora in Spanish means goodbye.’
‘Oh!’ and they both chuckled.
‘Anyway, can I offer you a cup of coffee?’ asked he.
‘Thanks but no thanks. I have to rush in to return this and run some errands. Maybe next time.”
That’s when he read the title of the book, ‘Heyy, “Norwegian Wood!” So you are the one who took it. I have been waiting forever for this book and the librarian would always say it hadn’t been returned.’ He couldn’t hide his resentment.
‘I’m sorry. I have been meaning to return it but got tied-up. Come with me and you can take it right away.”
‘You go ahead. I’ll be right with you.’’
‘Sure.’
He went back to the park bench and scribbled something in his journal.
Lost in thought he walked to the library.
She waved at him from a distance but he took no notice of her.
She came running and tripped over a hose.
‘Whoops! Are you okay?’ he asked while collecting the books from the floor.
‘Yes. I waved at you but you were in a reverie or something. Someone else is waiting to take that book. I told the librarian to put it on hold. Go, go.’
‘So kind of you. Many thanks.’
The Moonchild (1)
‘Sayanora, be safe’, he said and walked backwards.
‘Yes?’ she turned and they stumbled on each other causing the books on their hand to fall down.
‘Oops! Here you are’, he collected his journal and the books from the ground and gave it to her.
‘Sorry about that’, he apologized again.
‘No worries’, said she, ‘I should have been more careful. I thought I heard my name.’
‘Pardon?’ he puzzled for a moment.
‘I mean, someone called Sayanora and I turned back to see who it was.’
‘Oh! No, no, no, no, no. I was waving my mom goodbye. She is Spanish. Sayanora in Spanish means goodbye.’
‘Oh!’ and they both chuckled.
‘Anyway, can I offer you a cup of coffee?’ asked he.
‘Thanks but no thanks. I have to rush in to return this and run some errands. Maybe next time.”
That’s when he read the title of the book, ‘Heyy, “Norwegian Wood!” So you are the one who took it. I have been waiting forever for this book and the librarian would always say it hadn’t been returned.’ He couldn’t hide his resentment.
‘I’m sorry. I have been meaning to return it but got tied-up. Come with me and you can take it right away.”
‘You go ahead. I’ll be right with you.’’
‘Sure.’
He went back to the park bench and scribbled something in his journal.
Lost in thought he walked to the library.
She waved at him from a distance but he took no notice of her.
She came running and tripped over a hose.
‘Whoops! Are you okay?’ he asked while collecting the books from the floor.
‘Yes. I waved at you but you were in a reverie or something. Someone else is waiting to take that book. I told the librarian to put it on hold. Go, go.’
‘So kind of you. Many thanks.’
#review #shortstory #Florence
The Moonchild (2)
His version
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I do not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."
Neruda
It was the beginning of Autumn. There was nothing more pleasant than sauntering down the road at the crack of dawn under leaf canopies savouring the multi-hued autumn foliage. The red maple leaves, brown oak leaves and yellow ginkgo leaves fell off, twisting and turning in the soft wind, determined to leave the trees bare. An old man of indeterminate age hummed along while raking the leaves of which some crushed underfoot making crackly sounds.
As I was between jobs, perching on a park bench and immersing myself in the beauty of nature until the library opens had become part of my daily routine. It was during one of those lucky days I met her first and fell in love instantaneously. She looked elegant in her lavender accordion skirt and a white short sleeve top with a scarf to complement it. She had a captivating smile, beautiful enough to melt everyone’s heart. What struck me the most was her indomitable confidence emanated from her. She would come every weekend, go straight to the library and leave exactly after half an hour as if she exactly had in mind what book to take. On her way back, she sometimes would stop at a confectionary shop or at the florist for a quick pep talk. Gradually, I had gotten into the habit of secretly observing her but stalking her was something out of my secret agenda. Because it was exciting to love someone without that person’s knowledge and whereabouts (and also I was uncertain of her reaction). I knew I would approach her someday but not in the near future. As a next step, I started spending more time inside the library pretending to read. So far, I have been successful in presenting myself as someone who’s rather self-involved, not minding anyone else’s damn business. I don’t want her to find that I am into her head over heels. And today, I dared to offer her a cup of coffee but she turned me down. But on the bright side, I was glad that I could exchange a few pleasantries with her. Looking forward to meeting her again.
"I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me."
-Neruda
The Moonchild (2)
His version
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I do not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."
Neruda
It was the beginning of Autumn. There was nothing more pleasant than sauntering down the road at the crack of dawn under leaf canopies savouring the multi-hued autumn foliage. The red maple leaves, brown oak leaves and yellow ginkgo leaves fell off, twisting and turning in the soft wind, determined to leave the trees bare. An old man of indeterminate age hummed along while raking the leaves of which some crushed underfoot making crackly sounds.
As I was between jobs, perching on a park bench and immersing myself in the beauty of nature until the library opens had become part of my daily routine. It was during one of those lucky days I met her first and fell in love instantaneously. She looked elegant in her lavender accordion skirt and a white short sleeve top with a scarf to complement it. She had a captivating smile, beautiful enough to melt everyone’s heart. What struck me the most was her indomitable confidence emanated from her. She would come every weekend, go straight to the library and leave exactly after half an hour as if she exactly had in mind what book to take. On her way back, she sometimes would stop at a confectionary shop or at the florist for a quick pep talk. Gradually, I had gotten into the habit of secretly observing her but stalking her was something out of my secret agenda. Because it was exciting to love someone without that person’s knowledge and whereabouts (and also I was uncertain of her reaction). I knew I would approach her someday but not in the near future. As a next step, I started spending more time inside the library pretending to read. So far, I have been successful in presenting myself as someone who’s rather self-involved, not minding anyone else’s damn business. I don’t want her to find that I am into her head over heels. And today, I dared to offer her a cup of coffee but she turned me down. But on the bright side, I was glad that I could exchange a few pleasantries with her. Looking forward to meeting her again.
"I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me."
-Neruda
#review #shortstory #Florence
The Moonchild (3)
Her Version
"As if you were on fire from within.
The moon lives in the lining of your skin."
-Neruda
It is surprising when you find a rekindled spark of love inside you. It is even more surprising to find that it hasn’t died inside you. I don’t know what’s happening to me and this uncertainty kills me. Because I was almost an alien to these kinds of feelings. My heart is burning with desire and I fail to put that out.
I still remember the first day when I met him at the library. I fell for him without an instant’s hesitation. He would always be engrossed in his own world reading something or the other. It seemed to me that he wouldn’t blink even when the crystal chandelier fell on him from the ceiling. He would sit there for hours reading as if there were no tomorrow or he might be memorizing each and every word fearing that Guy Montag and his firemen come to burn the building and the books at fahrenheit 451!!
Even after getting the book I want, I simply rummage through the shelf so that I can observe him from the corner of my eye. Sometimes, I even ask myself why I have this obsessive need for him to find me. For him, I am just another member of the library. I really wish he could at least once take his eyes away from the book to look at me. God! Put an end to my agony and give me the joys of spring.
“so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache.”
The Moonchild (3)
Her Version
"As if you were on fire from within.
The moon lives in the lining of your skin."
-Neruda
It is surprising when you find a rekindled spark of love inside you. It is even more surprising to find that it hasn’t died inside you. I don’t know what’s happening to me and this uncertainty kills me. Because I was almost an alien to these kinds of feelings. My heart is burning with desire and I fail to put that out.
I still remember the first day when I met him at the library. I fell for him without an instant’s hesitation. He would always be engrossed in his own world reading something or the other. It seemed to me that he wouldn’t blink even when the crystal chandelier fell on him from the ceiling. He would sit there for hours reading as if there were no tomorrow or he might be memorizing each and every word fearing that Guy Montag and his firemen come to burn the building and the books at fahrenheit 451!!
Even after getting the book I want, I simply rummage through the shelf so that I can observe him from the corner of my eye. Sometimes, I even ask myself why I have this obsessive need for him to find me. For him, I am just another member of the library. I really wish he could at least once take his eyes away from the book to look at me. God! Put an end to my agony and give me the joys of spring.
“so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache.”
#review #shortstory #Florence
The Moonchild (4)
They met again next weekend, this time with an embarrassing smile. He asked her to join him for a walk through the garden.
‘Apparently, there was a mix-up with the books,’ he started to end the silence.
‘Well, we were not supposed to read each other’s journals.’ she answered.
‘Turned out to be good though,’ he couldn’t suppress a smile there. “When you fall in love, the natural thing to do is give yourself to it.”
‘Murakami. So I guess you have finished reading “Norwegian Wood.”’
‘Yes. it was a complete page-turner. It didn’t take me long to complete it.’
After a few minutes' walk, they settled on a bench. He took her hands and looked her in the eyes.
‘Look Sayanora, we know that we are into each other. So what do you say we proceed to see how far this goes?’
‘But there are some things I want you to know,’ she said with unblinking eyes.
‘Doesn’t matter, you know. After all is said and done we are not strangers. I don’t care about your past and I hope you don’t care about mine either,’ assured he.
‘I have a daughter.’
He startled for a moment.
‘Her name is Matilda. She is 10 years old and partially paralysed.’
This came as a shock to him. He gathered himself and asked her about the father.
‘Long story short, he left me after finding that I was pregnant,’ and she sobbed like a child.
‘Shh..shhh..there.. there…,’ he hugged her and let her cry till the tears dried out. It never occurred to him that there’s a misery lurking beneath her beautiful smile.
Making sure that she was okay he promised he would meet her next week in the library.
‘Would you like to drop in for a coffee? I live nearby and you can meet my daughter also.’ and she waited for a positive reply.
‘Sure.’ he couldn’t leave her.
They walked in silence.
‘So, is she named after Roald Dahl’s Matilda?’ he asked to break the silence.
‘Brilliant! Yes, she is. If it were a boy I would have named him Charlie, you know’, she broke into laughter and continued, ‘every night I read to her and Dahl is her favourite also.’
It took only a five-minute walk to her home.
She introduced her daughter to him. She was a pretty little girl with a winsome smile and got on well with him.
Suddenly, he noticed around the girl’s neck a silver chain with a crescent moon pendant.
‘It looks fantastic,’ he said pointing to the chain. ‘I also had one with me but got lost somewhere.’
‘That’s sad. You can wear it for some time you know,’ Matilda lavished her affection on him.
He checked the pendant for it looked familiar to him. It was exactly like the one he got from his mother. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he read the initials behind the pendant. It read D. V.
The Moonchild (4)
They met again next weekend, this time with an embarrassing smile. He asked her to join him for a walk through the garden.
‘Apparently, there was a mix-up with the books,’ he started to end the silence.
‘Well, we were not supposed to read each other’s journals.’ she answered.
‘Turned out to be good though,’ he couldn’t suppress a smile there. “When you fall in love, the natural thing to do is give yourself to it.”
‘Murakami. So I guess you have finished reading “Norwegian Wood.”’
‘Yes. it was a complete page-turner. It didn’t take me long to complete it.’
After a few minutes' walk, they settled on a bench. He took her hands and looked her in the eyes.
‘Look Sayanora, we know that we are into each other. So what do you say we proceed to see how far this goes?’
‘But there are some things I want you to know,’ she said with unblinking eyes.
‘Doesn’t matter, you know. After all is said and done we are not strangers. I don’t care about your past and I hope you don’t care about mine either,’ assured he.
‘I have a daughter.’
He startled for a moment.
‘Her name is Matilda. She is 10 years old and partially paralysed.’
This came as a shock to him. He gathered himself and asked her about the father.
‘Long story short, he left me after finding that I was pregnant,’ and she sobbed like a child.
‘Shh..shhh..there.. there…,’ he hugged her and let her cry till the tears dried out. It never occurred to him that there’s a misery lurking beneath her beautiful smile.
Making sure that she was okay he promised he would meet her next week in the library.
‘Would you like to drop in for a coffee? I live nearby and you can meet my daughter also.’ and she waited for a positive reply.
‘Sure.’ he couldn’t leave her.
They walked in silence.
‘So, is she named after Roald Dahl’s Matilda?’ he asked to break the silence.
‘Brilliant! Yes, she is. If it were a boy I would have named him Charlie, you know’, she broke into laughter and continued, ‘every night I read to her and Dahl is her favourite also.’
It took only a five-minute walk to her home.
She introduced her daughter to him. She was a pretty little girl with a winsome smile and got on well with him.
Suddenly, he noticed around the girl’s neck a silver chain with a crescent moon pendant.
‘It looks fantastic,’ he said pointing to the chain. ‘I also had one with me but got lost somewhere.’
‘That’s sad. You can wear it for some time you know,’ Matilda lavished her affection on him.
He checked the pendant for it looked familiar to him. It was exactly like the one he got from his mother. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he read the initials behind the pendant. It read D. V.
#review #shortstory #Florence
The Moonchild (5)
‘Sayanora… Sayanora…’ he called out.
‘What’s the matter? She answered from the kitchen.
He went to her and continued, ‘I know you are reluctant to stir up your past but I need to know what exactly happened in your life and I promise I won’t leave you.’
She took a deep breath and sat down to reveal her story.
‘Well, first of all, I’m sorry I lied to you. Her father didn’t leave just because I was pregnant. In fact, he had no idea. Matilda happened out of wedlock. I was a sophomore in Virginia Public school and on new year’s eve, I attended a costume party at my friend’s home. She forced me to drink what she said was wine, but it was not. Everyone came with their dates and was celebrating and dancing. I was hopeless and desperate for love. That’s when this mysterious guy appeared from nowhere. I couldn’t recognize his face because the room was rather dim and poorly lit. He asked me to dance with him and we made out. One thing led to another and we slept together in a drunken frenzy. I woke up the next morning realizing that he had already left me. Everyone was clueless about him and tracking him was impossible because I didn’t even know his name. My friends said it might be my manicorn coming in dreams to take me away to la-la land. It was like a nightmare. I was troubled by recurring dreams of him and had a hard time adjusting to the new reality. I was an avid reader so I tried to find solace in my books. Later, I found out that I was pregnant. My father’s strict Victorian upbringing forced him to disown me and my mother neither wanted me to leave nor did she stop him. My relatives showed no interest to take me in. It was difficult to find accommodation and Mary, a friend of mine shared her apartment with me and I did every odd job to make ends meet. I managed to save up some money and after Matilda was born I shifted here. I started a new job as an accountant in a department store nearby and I am free on most weekends. And a weekend visit to the library is a relief from the hitherto monotonous routine of my daily life. So, here I am sitting on this couch and sharing my miserable story. What do you feel now?’
The Moonchild (5)
‘Sayanora… Sayanora…’ he called out.
‘What’s the matter? She answered from the kitchen.
He went to her and continued, ‘I know you are reluctant to stir up your past but I need to know what exactly happened in your life and I promise I won’t leave you.’
She took a deep breath and sat down to reveal her story.
‘Well, first of all, I’m sorry I lied to you. Her father didn’t leave just because I was pregnant. In fact, he had no idea. Matilda happened out of wedlock. I was a sophomore in Virginia Public school and on new year’s eve, I attended a costume party at my friend’s home. She forced me to drink what she said was wine, but it was not. Everyone came with their dates and was celebrating and dancing. I was hopeless and desperate for love. That’s when this mysterious guy appeared from nowhere. I couldn’t recognize his face because the room was rather dim and poorly lit. He asked me to dance with him and we made out. One thing led to another and we slept together in a drunken frenzy. I woke up the next morning realizing that he had already left me. Everyone was clueless about him and tracking him was impossible because I didn’t even know his name. My friends said it might be my manicorn coming in dreams to take me away to la-la land. It was like a nightmare. I was troubled by recurring dreams of him and had a hard time adjusting to the new reality. I was an avid reader so I tried to find solace in my books. Later, I found out that I was pregnant. My father’s strict Victorian upbringing forced him to disown me and my mother neither wanted me to leave nor did she stop him. My relatives showed no interest to take me in. It was difficult to find accommodation and Mary, a friend of mine shared her apartment with me and I did every odd job to make ends meet. I managed to save up some money and after Matilda was born I shifted here. I started a new job as an accountant in a department store nearby and I am free on most weekends. And a weekend visit to the library is a relief from the hitherto monotonous routine of my daily life. So, here I am sitting on this couch and sharing my miserable story. What do you feel now?’
#review #shortstory #Florence
The Moonchild (6)
He sat motionless throughout the story and struggled for words.
‘Oh my gosh! I don’t know what to say. Do you recollect his appearance or anything at all?’
‘I wish I could. But, Unfortunately, no. The only thing I could remember of him was his tattoo on his chest which read “niño de la luna” and this silver chain in your hand which he left there.’
‘Sayanora, you need to know what I’m about to say. So, brace yourself. Believe it or not, this chain belongs to me.’
‘Wait, what?’ She replied wide-eyed and astounded.
‘Just be nonchalant and listen to me uninterrupted,’ and he took off his shirt to expose the tattoo which read “niño de la luna.”
She gasped and tears streamed down her cheeks.
‘Why did you leave me? You owe me an apology and an explanation as well,’ she couldn’t help bursting out.
‘I didn’t leave you. I wanted to come back the next day but things took an unexpected turn. Please listen to me. I was born in Mexico and have been living in the US since I was five years old. I am a typical Dickens boy who was left an orphan after my parents’ death. My uncle sheltered me but cost me a life. He was a drug dealer and used me to exchange drugs between parties. I tried many times to run away but each time he found me. One day he told me to give two packets to two students and I was meant to meet them at a costume party and was supposed to look for red and blue-haired chaps. Only recently did I discover that Jamaican Red Hair and Kentucky Blue were secret codes for marijuana.
So, that’s how I came to the party. I refused to go but my uncle was persistent and even threatened to kill me. As I glanced around the room for red and blue-haired guys my eyes got stuck on you. You looked like a damsel in distress and I felt an urge to take you in my arms and comfort you. What I felt was true and I went for my instinct. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling someone dragging my feet. It was my uncle’s stepson who was also in the drug business. He told me that uncle was taken by the mafia as he failed to accomplish his task and if he blurted out anything they would come after me. He was kind enough to let me go and I raced through the nearest rail tracks hoping to reach the end of the world.
The Moonchild (6)
He sat motionless throughout the story and struggled for words.
‘Oh my gosh! I don’t know what to say. Do you recollect his appearance or anything at all?’
‘I wish I could. But, Unfortunately, no. The only thing I could remember of him was his tattoo on his chest which read “niño de la luna” and this silver chain in your hand which he left there.’
‘Sayanora, you need to know what I’m about to say. So, brace yourself. Believe it or not, this chain belongs to me.’
‘Wait, what?’ She replied wide-eyed and astounded.
‘Just be nonchalant and listen to me uninterrupted,’ and he took off his shirt to expose the tattoo which read “niño de la luna.”
She gasped and tears streamed down her cheeks.
‘Why did you leave me? You owe me an apology and an explanation as well,’ she couldn’t help bursting out.
‘I didn’t leave you. I wanted to come back the next day but things took an unexpected turn. Please listen to me. I was born in Mexico and have been living in the US since I was five years old. I am a typical Dickens boy who was left an orphan after my parents’ death. My uncle sheltered me but cost me a life. He was a drug dealer and used me to exchange drugs between parties. I tried many times to run away but each time he found me. One day he told me to give two packets to two students and I was meant to meet them at a costume party and was supposed to look for red and blue-haired chaps. Only recently did I discover that Jamaican Red Hair and Kentucky Blue were secret codes for marijuana.
So, that’s how I came to the party. I refused to go but my uncle was persistent and even threatened to kill me. As I glanced around the room for red and blue-haired guys my eyes got stuck on you. You looked like a damsel in distress and I felt an urge to take you in my arms and comfort you. What I felt was true and I went for my instinct. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling someone dragging my feet. It was my uncle’s stepson who was also in the drug business. He told me that uncle was taken by the mafia as he failed to accomplish his task and if he blurted out anything they would come after me. He was kind enough to let me go and I raced through the nearest rail tracks hoping to reach the end of the world.
#review #shortstory #Florence
The Moonchild (7)
And the next thing I remembered was the radiant smile of a lady. I still have no idea how she got me but I’m grateful that she put a roof over my head and filled my belly. Once the dust had settled I came to Virginia looking for that mysterious girl in Dorothy Gale costume but in vain. I have been hoping to find her and now here I am. Unbelievable, isn’t it?
She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘But the initials of the pendant says D. V,’ said she.
‘You never asked my name.’
That’s when she realized even though they fell in love and poured out everything about each other she still didn’t know his name. She passed an embarrassing smile.
‘Dimitri Valentino. The chain was gifted to me by my birth mom. I am a moonchild. My zodiac sign is cancer. And the lady who I was bidding bye to was my foster mom, Isabelle. She knows you as ‘the girl in the library.’ She came that day to meet you.’
‘Oh God! Feels like a fairytale to me.’
He looked at her eyes, covered her cheeks with his hands and pressed his lips on her forehead. ‘Finally, We have found each other and I love you.’
She, still closing eyes, gently whispered, "Don't leave me, even for an hour..”
And he recited along,
“... because then
the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart."
A few months later, in a pleasant morning in late spring,
Minister: Dimitry Valentino and Sayanora Olive, now that you have exchanged your vows, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!!
The Moonchild (7)
And the next thing I remembered was the radiant smile of a lady. I still have no idea how she got me but I’m grateful that she put a roof over my head and filled my belly. Once the dust had settled I came to Virginia looking for that mysterious girl in Dorothy Gale costume but in vain. I have been hoping to find her and now here I am. Unbelievable, isn’t it?
She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘But the initials of the pendant says D. V,’ said she.
‘You never asked my name.’
That’s when she realized even though they fell in love and poured out everything about each other she still didn’t know his name. She passed an embarrassing smile.
‘Dimitri Valentino. The chain was gifted to me by my birth mom. I am a moonchild. My zodiac sign is cancer. And the lady who I was bidding bye to was my foster mom, Isabelle. She knows you as ‘the girl in the library.’ She came that day to meet you.’
‘Oh God! Feels like a fairytale to me.’
He looked at her eyes, covered her cheeks with his hands and pressed his lips on her forehead. ‘Finally, We have found each other and I love you.’
She, still closing eyes, gently whispered, "Don't leave me, even for an hour..”
And he recited along,
“... because then
the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart."
A few months later, in a pleasant morning in late spring,
Minister: Dimitry Valentino and Sayanora Olive, now that you have exchanged your vows, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!!