A Middle Age Tale

Chapter 1

« Die for ever ? Who can say that ? » Marcel Proust

# Comptine pour un été / Yann Tiersen

Featured image

It was a dreaded and unwanted birth. In the icy morning the little girl, Ophélia, was born, the Yaegahara’s mountain was invested from a huge sorrow but Atrée, the girl’s father was most swamped. This day was the most somber because the death seized the most estimable and most liked being, the one who was the most discouraged : Sybil drowned herself in the lake of Yaegahara suite in the birth of Ophélia and in the insults of her husband. So began the life of the girl.

For eight years, the child browsed the castle without being able to see the world that surrounded her father and her grandmother Mariko were then the people who protected her and loved her most. Atrée considered her as a part of his wife and the way to redeem hiself with her because he had flooded in his sorrow : his fault and the guilt killed him little by little.

Ophélia ended up alone in this gigantic house without knowing really that to make walked in the castle as a dead shadow affected by a fragile health, an always pale complexion.
It reigned in this fortress a rather ghostly atmosphere, a dead child, a father of a sinister humor.         The life existed only by the laborious activity of the servants.

12083615_192288001108436_151235230_n

Ophélia was raised by Hana, a dynamic handmaid who gaves orders everytime. It is doubtless with her that the girl maintained most links. During these years, she met Kaede and Lucius who were both of her in family, her cousin and  her sister, but  they had no close relation, maybe because they thought it’s not a necessity, because of the cruel ignorance of the young children.

The girl didn’t understand the life of the adults who surrounded her. What after all made her suffered, she didn’t realized it, because her family loved her fervently, but unfortunately she ended up alone in her child’s life. Without knowing really the happiness, Ophélia thought of possessing it, because love which her close friends carried her was the most important for her.   Consequently, the girl felt no jealousy but only a big empty that brought her to ask many questions on her life and to question herself: was she a weight for them who loved her and who nevertheless were not present? That’s why the guilt ate away at her and that she felt useless to all those who loved her. This feeling accompanied her from now on, a thing which for ever would be with her without she can get rid of it.

Advertisements
A Middle Age Tale

Stairway to Heaven

maxresdefault

I’ve taken my place on my bed. Suddenly door of room opened and a young guy entered. He was shining just like sun. We’ve started to chat like friends. He’s talking with my brother, I was washing my hands and looking to the mirror in toilets. After 8 hours sleeping and 5 hours wandering in the city I had needed to feel relax. I made my hair and back to room. Because there were a few sexy Polish chick. I was sure there were another girls too. Which boy doesn’t want to seduce a beautiful Polish girl? Only gays may be…
I entered the room and met another guy. My brother’s talking with them. First guy from Ireland and second guy from Brazil. St. Patrick and Sao Paulo. Some meeting and talking about football and they had gone. I was chilling on bed and asked to my brother.

I: Can we find the Jesus in Krakow?
B: Fuck off. I need to rest.
I: But we met Saints.
B: You don’t believe in God. What the fuck Saints?
I: You’ll go to hell.
B: Go to market, I am hungry.
Silence…
B: Don’t forget to buy Pilsner! (He shouted)
I: Oookeeey

I was in street and beside of hostels door. I heard loud voice on my back “STRIP CLUB!! TWENTY GIRLS! CHAMPAGNE!”
I didn’t look even. Because I remembered those Saints. They had wings and bright faces.
I back to room and brought sandwiches and beers to my brother. We’re eating. Suddenly, door opened and St. Patrick shouted “omg! I visited worse Strip club until now”. He was telling his strip club adventure like a comedian. I was thinking “what a Saint! God must allow his sins.” And he said “Hey fellas are you going to come to pub crawl tonight?” I was surprised and accepted. How could I reject this kind offer? He is a saint! I can go to heaven if I’d live like him!
In the evening, I and my bro went to the market. We’re searching good beers. Poland must have good beers but we couldn’t find which beer we want to drink. A fog and a light. Sao Paulo came to market. Nobody understood that he came. Just I and my bro would have see him. He recommended a blue beer. He said “Other beers awful, you should try this. I missed to drink Brazilian drinks” he bought own beer and gone.
We started to drink on front of hostel. People were coming. I saw a guy with Native American eyes. He was talking with my bro. All party members were walking to the tram. I was talking about girls with St. Patrick. My bro called me and I met that Native Indian eyed guy. He will have been our best friend in Krakow but we didn’t know this yet. We’ve met just for 10 minutes. His name is James. Looks like cool as James Dean. He has a vodka bottle on his hand and dancing always. All night he drank this bottle and danced. Tram came and we got on. Music, drinks, girls… Everything was awesome. Like a heaven.
St. Patrick was wandering between people and meeting always to new people. I was drinking fourth bottle of beers and I felt my head like a stone but I was feeling brave that’s why I started to dance and talk with a brunette Polish girl. Katarina. Kasia. Katzaryna. I didn’t know her name. But it starts Ka… I put my hand on her shoulder and met with my bro but she didn’t like me. Finally tram was stopped. Pee break. Oh I can’t tell how much I felt good with fresh air. Smoke of cigarettes makes me awful but it works sometimes. When I piss, I sing “rambla pa ti rambla pa ja es a la rumba de barcelona” or Gypsy Kings songs. I tried to piss between trees but there were two girls who speaks in Spanish. I shouted “hey Espantoso girls I am shying because of you are very close to me! Go please!” and we started to talk. I don’t remember what they asked to me but I was speaking good Andalucian accent and I understood that they’re from Catalonia. Probably they liked me. I was pissing and talking with them unwittingly. I finished the pee break and when little girl walk to the train, I said “high five!” and she shouted “noooo! you touched it!” I convinced her “noooo! I pissed without touch”. Girls believe me quickly because I seem very innocent. Although how I seem, I swear I didn’t touch it. She laughed and told something to other girl. They asked my name and we met. I don’t remember the name of little one but I remember other pierced lips girl. Paula. Till’ we arrive to first bar, she was mine. I stolen her by a German guy. It was stupidly theft. That German guy has a friend and he was shouting Turkish swear words. I heard those words and went to him. By the way, his name is Felix.

F: Son of bitchess! Fuck your ass! Fuck your mom! (he was saying these in Turkish like a German metal vocalist)
I: What’s your name bro? Ahsooo all what you said. Your pronounce awful, you should be more kind when swearing just you need true mimes.
F: I’m from Köln. I’ve maaany Tuuuukish freeeend. (he was really drunk…)
I: Ok meun freund. Keep calm and say not “orospu çocuku” you should say “orrrospu çocuğu” ok?
F: Orrospu çocuuu!
I: Strong r man! Strong r!!
F: Orrrrrrospu çocuuuuuu! Do you know German swear words?
I: Arschloch!
F: Strooong man! Arrrsschhloch!
I: Arrrsschloooch!
F: Let’s drink to all assholes
I: Let’s drink to all son of bitches.
I&F: Salut!
I: Who is that guy? (I am asking that boy who wants to fuck Paula)
F: My friend. Hey …. german german german….. he is my new friend.
I: Sieg hell bro! (Left handed Nazi style)
F: Mein freund, you shouldn’t talk like that we’re in Krakow. People can fuck us.
I: Über alle Deutcchland! I am not German. This is your problem.
and Paula heard our silly chat. I guess he was bored of that German guy.
I: Hola Paula. Que la que?
P: Hola cutie ….spanish spanish spanish….
I: I don’t know Spanish, I need a teacher.
P: But I am not teacher.
I: Bueno, what are you? (nobody know Cem Yılmaz at tram)
P: I am actress.
I: Heeey that’s wonderful. I need an actress.
P: Yeah, and you?
I: I am independent director. Short moviemaker. But I can be Julio Iglesias tonight.
P: ….spanish words…. (I guess, she thought that I am so romantic <3)
I:  Blablablabla (damn! I really said blabla…) Would you like to play on my movies? We can be famous just like Tarantino and Uma Thurman. (I am so romantic cuz’ thinking this —  3<)
P: Blablabla (damn! she liked it) Ohh do you like Tarantino? My favorite director is Pasolini!
I: Sodom!
P: Gomorra! (she’s taken my bottle)
I: Blablabla (I really didn’t know what I’m gonna say)
P: I liked you!
I: Gracias! wait I’m gonna take a bottle.
and I back to her with two bottles.
P: I missed you.
I: Honey, I’m glad to hear that. Why don’t you sit on my knees? You’ll be my actor.
P: If you want to fuck tonight, you should tap your bottle like that. (she showed a drink move)
I’ve done the same move…
Until now she is the third Paula from Spain who I’ve met. Without cause, I have met three girl from Spain and all of them Paula. Coincidence….
I wanted to take a cigarette and she gave it. I learned that she will be an actress. I have a diploma about cinema. Can’t I be a short movie maker? Of course, I can be just for one night. We talked about Passolini, my favorite actress’, her favorite directors and movies. I haven’t directed any movie except at university but I was her favorite director at this night.St. Patrick was wrestling with a boy and jumping like a rabbit in tram. He jumped and joined to chat with a girl “Hey bro are you having fun? Who is this angel?”  and supernatural something happened. We’re at nightclub. But I didn’t see Paula. But almost all hostel was at there. Then, I found two Ukrainian girls through St. Patrick. We chatted at outside almost a hour about Jack London, philosophy, why they are in Poland, war in Ukraine, my Ukrainian friends. In the end, I was thirsty and  wanted to go back to the club for drink something. I kissed them and say “We’ll never meet again probably, have perfect life and live it!” and I left them.
In the club, St. Patrick was playing drinking games with other boys and girls. He was slapping our chests… I joined them but I was bored quickly. Again I went to outside. I found James, Luke, Etienne and my bro. I taught them what “alone man” means in Turkish. They learned very quickly that easy word. “Sap” in Krakow streets 4-5 guys we’re saying “Sap! Viva Sap! We’re sap!”
We’ve lost each other. My bro and James were with me. We walked to hostel for sleeping. My bro’s gone to sleep. James had flu. His throat was terrible because of cigarette although he didn’t smoke. I was reading my book. Kerouac. Good choice for travel. I finished the book. I don’t remember what about we talked. Time was passed 5:00 AM. Sun was shining.
I’ve gone to bed. Sao Paulo and my bro were sleeping like a drunk. I slept.
At 7:30 I opened my eyes. St. Patrick was messaging on phone. He said “good morning” and showed his chest. Purple and finger marks… I said “oh man go get some sleep”.
He’s lost his wings. In the room, thousand of white furs on the floor.
But we had been in heaven…
Stairway to Heaven