How I'd love to be able to write about all the good things we have going on in Germany. How I'd love to be genuinely proud. Sadly, time and again I am reminded not to carry my head too high.
Consider all the things that a government should be concerned with: taxes, education, public health (very important these days), public infrastructure, public safety, foreign affairs, trade, just to name a few that spring to mind. What they actually do concern themselves with is often a vastly different matter.
To give an example, I have just learnt, there is a law governing the "Peace of the Dead" (Totenruhe) which lays down your "post-portem personal rights". One effect, my landlady told me, is that if you have a relative cremated somewhere other than where he or she will be buried the urn has to be sent by mail to the place of burial. It cannot be handed over to the deceased's family (as it can in other countries). They might set grandma's remains on the mantle piece and that would be "disturbing the Peace of the Dead". It would be an offense. The Peace of the Dead is protected for ten years. I'd agree it would be extremely bad taste - but to be punishable is going a bit too far. And then I consider that representatives in parliament must have sat down to debate this and make it law. What precious time they must have spent on this! Sometimes I think it's so that later when challenged on what they achieved they can point at it and say: "We weren't idle. We passed a bill to protect the personal rights of the dead."
Similarly, there's a bill somewhere covering domestic violence where a husband physically abuses his wife. You'd think that such things were covered somewhere under rape, assault or grievous bodily harm. But parliament stuck their heads together and came up with a separate bill for this just to show that they are very concerned about the fate of women. Now, I agree that there should be zero tolerance toward such offenses. Still, is this what our government should spend their time on when economy at the time was stagnant and unemployment on the rise? Later they will say: "But we protected women's interests." While neglecting their duties toward the future of the country.
Environment: There has been - and still is - a big debate about abolishing nuclear power in Germany (Atomausstieg). This egg was hatched by the Green Party after the Chernobyl incident. All around us our European neighbours like France, the UK and even the Czech Republic are actually increasing their nuclear capacity. We also have as yet no workable alternative. Still, environmentalists go on shouting their slogans of renewable energies, setting an example and making our country safer. I don't think they have given much thought to how many wind generators it would take to power a city like Berlin or Hamburg. Or that the French have nuclear power plants right across the border from us (so much for safety). We might well end up buying electricity from them later. But that's what parliament spend their time on.
Or education: When I was in secondary school the government spent years agreeing on a spelling reform and finally introduced the "New German Spelling" (Neue Deutsche Rechtschreibung). It turned out to be mainly a rearrangement of the existing rules. Nothing new or ground breaking. The usage of "ß" and "ss" has become more complicated rather than less. The government spent God-knows what resources repairing something that wasn't broken in the first place. With the only effect that I can throw away half the rules I painstakingly memorised at school and now have to rely mainly on my spell checker. Some reform.
The list goes on.
Sometimes this kind of behaviour seems to me like children that are told to do unpleasant chores. Mum says: "Clean up your room." When she comes back little Timmy stands in front of the door of his room and proudly announces: "Mum, I washed my face." When mum tries to take a look at his room he quickly steps in her way and beams his clean face at her. What he did wasn't useless but it would have happened anyhow and his room is still a mess.
My grandfather always says we have the government we deserve. There are times when I fear he is right. The next general election is coming up and I can already see the propogan- I mean, campaign posters. "Financial sharks would vote for Liberal", the Social Democrat posters proclaim ominously. They promise to deal out more money. The current government has already ensured the "scrapping bonus" (Abwrackprämie: a €2500 bonus you get from the government if you scrap your old car and buy a new one) will continue to be paid until the end of the year. This will boost economy, they say. To blind voters, they're handing out money they don't have. And they pass laws that allow them to pretend they've been busy. And they're surprised that young people are frustrated and loose interest in politics. It's all really a lot like kindergarten.
What to do? I will cast my vote and do my personal duty. And hope against all hope that something will change.
Welcome to this outlet for one of many facets of myself. This may include anything from views on current events, general ramblings and rant to short stories by yours truly.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Dream in the Pavilion by the Lake on a Rainy Day
Another story - inspired by a rainy day and a few cheesy Chinese fairytales...
The rain started as the sun began to set. It pattered down on the roof of the little, lonely pavilion. It made endlessly complicated ripples on the surface of the lake it overlooked. It ran in tiny waterfalls off the green tiled roof and splashed noisily onto the ground below. Soon puddles had formed around the stairs that led up to the platform. The refreshing summer shower turned into a downpour dense enough to obscure the dark forest on the opposite banks of the lake. A light breeze rose and carried with it the scent of wet grass and wood. The wind chimes dangling from the eves of the roof rang out their melancholic music. Nobody ever heard the sound of a single rain drop falling, the general mused, but a million of them are enough to drown out the battle cries of an entire army.
The general stood perfectly erect in the centre of the small building with its pointed, green tiled roof, sweeping eves and dark wooden posts. His travelling cloak was pulled closely around him to ward off the rising chill. Even now, when there was nobody around he had not undone his hair or rid himself of the cap that was the symbol of his rank. His horse was tied up a short walk away under the trees. He could hear it snort or whinny occasionally. He had brought nothing except a few rice balls and a bottle of liquor. He was waiting for the dragon.
Dusk was slowly settling in as the rain wore on. The general raised his cup, toasting nobody in particular. He knocked it back and warmth trickled down his throat and spread comfortably through his insides. Idly he observed the drip-, drip-, dripping from one of the eves of the pavilion into a puddle underneath where each new drop produced a new concentric, perfectly circular ripple. It was a symmetry that the Great Sage would have been proud of. After the humidity of the day a fog began to rise from the surface of the lake. Its milky veil turned the trees on the opposite shore into mysterious shades drifting in and out between them. Even the great poets' praise for the West Lake seemed pale in comparison. This hidden lake offered true serenity.
He never noticed the figure until it had emerged – without so much as disturbing the water – out of the centre of the lake. Unheeding of the fragile water's surface the shape that had now settled for that of a powerfully built man strode surely across it as if it were solid stone. It was wearing a grand, richly ornate suit of mail with a finely crafted breast plate that even General Cao Cao would have envied. His robes were of a sky blue and dusk blue, purple and a starry silver. At his side the man carried a decorated broadsword. His silvery beard tumbled like a frothy waterfall over his chest down to his belt. Only as he approached closer did the general take note of the stubby antlers on the top of the man’s head.
As the being that looked like a man strode up to the pavilion the general dropped down on one knee.
"Do I have the distinct honour of addressing the Silver Dragon of the South?", he enquired without looking up.
"People have called me many names over the centuries", the dragon replied. His voice was a deep rumble yet every syllable came out pronounced round and full and beautiful with a touch of nobility. "It has always pleased you mortals to call me what you wish."
"I am but a humble servant and of not much use to one such as you", the general intoned. "Dictate and I shall obey."
The dragon chuckled and it sounded like water lapping against the side of a keg.
"You have come a long way indeed to tell me that you are no use to me", he observed. Startled the general raised his head, forgetting etiquette. The dragon's eyes, clear as polished crystal, studied the general who dared not return the gaze but stared vaguely at the dragon's chest plate. Embossed in it was a bizarre grimace staring back at him. He noticed that none of the dragon's garbs were wet – neither from the water through which he had emerged nor from the rain which was soaking everything else.
"I ...", he began, "I have come this far to seek your immeasurable wisdom, great one. Taoist monks in the temple nearby told me about you. I come to you seeking purity of thought and clarity of mind."
The dragon nodded gravely still holding the general transfixed in his gaze.
"I know of you", the dragon spoke slowly as if reflecting on every word before uttering it, "the winds have whispered it to me. You are General Jin Su Liang from Jiangsu Province. You come from your campaign in the far north where none other than the Son of Heaven himself ordered you to lead his armies against the barbarians called the Xiong Nu. Your endeavours in the field have been rewarded with great success. His Majesty even bestowed on you the title of General Who Pacifies the North. Now you are on your way west from your home where it pleases the Son of Heaven that you shall smite a peasant revolt that is troubling the Empire. You have proven great prowess and cunning in the field while maintaining utmost integrity and loyalty to the throne. Thanks to you China will be safe once more. What for could a man of your stature require any more clarity of thought or purity of mind? What wisdom could I have to offer you that you do not already possess?"
"But you are a dragon, my lord", Jin objected surprised. "I am nothing compared to you. I am but an ant while your might is the sky above me."
"They call you the Tiger of the North", the dragon reminded him gently, "soon they will call you the Dragon of the West."
"I would never dare to even allow myself to be called that so as not to offend your splendour", Jin affirmed.
The dragon lips curled in an amused smile. "You have no say in what people call you – be it by word or by lash. But it is no false modesty that makes me speak thusly – I have no military expertise to offer you."
Jin bowed his head.
"Sad and lonely my days are, General", the dragon resumed after a brief pause", speak with me." He motioned towards the bench that surrounded the circular platform. "Come, rise and let us sit and talk like civilised folk."
Jin obeyed and sat on the wooden bench as the dragon lowered himself onto the bench opposite him. Only now he remembered the drink. He produced the bottle.
"It is cheap and not worthy of a palate as refined as yours but may I offer you my cup to drink?"
The dragon took the proffered cup with a nod, inhaled, then took a sip. Without a word he handed back the cup motioning Jin to drink. Only after Jin had himself lowered the cup the dragon sighed and smiled.
"Now tell me your story, General", he rumbled. "Tell me what really brings you here and what holds your mind and heart of hearts."
“It has been a long journey, my lord”, Jin began quietly, his head bowed, more to himself than anybody in particular. He was still trying to avoid the dragon’s piercing gaze.
“Sometimes”, he continued, “I hardly remember the last time I saw my home town, spoke with my mother or paid my respect to our ancestors.”
The general paused reminiscing. The dragon shifted on the seat looking expectantly.
When the general still hesitated he asked: “And that weighs heavy on you and burdens your conscience?”
The general sighed. He gazed out into the rain. It was almost time to light the little lamp that hung in the centre under the roof.
“It’s been a long time since I have seen my home”, he began again, “I went to war. In the grass lands of the far north I fought the mounted barbarians with sword and spear and bow. I saw wonders that few in my day may behold: The Great Wall that Emperor Qin Shi Huang first commissioned. It stands now, generations after him, in even greater splendour with the imperial banners still flying high on every turret in the morning breeze. I saw the mighty gates of Beijing, the West Lake of Hangzhou and we even made a stop at Mount Tai to pray for good fortune. That is to say the other generals prayed for success and good fortune. But I am ashamed to admit that I prayed to the Immortals only for myself.
In Zhejiang Province we stopped to rest in a small village, me with a troop of soldiers. The villagers were in awe, some seemed afraid. There I saw her: a young woman, probably the daughter of a local farmer carrying a large basket. Suddenly in comparison to her the all the great wonders of China seemed insignificant. She moved among her peers like a dancer. Her colourful dress simple though it was seemed to shine like a rainbow before grey clouds. Her features were delicate as if cast in fine porcelain or wrought out of jade. And her eyes were large and clear and deep. Even the memory of the golden sun rising over Mount Tai seemed to loose its brilliance the moment I laid eyes on her. And as our gazes met she looked back and smiled. But before I could utter a word or greeting she had disappeared around the corner of a house. When I dismounted and ran after her to at least ask her name I saw her walking toward the fields. Just when I was about to call after her she looked back over her shoulder and smiled again. Suddenly I felt foolish – not like a man but like a young boy.
Later that evening she came to our camp carrying a clay bottle. She bowed before me and presented me the bottle. When she spoke she had the delicate accent of the region but nonetheless her Mandarin was flawless.
‘General, to show our respect and loyalty for our lord our village would like to present our lord with this humble gift. We apologise that it is not more but we are poor and can give little else. We wish our lord a hundred years of good health.’
Forgetting etiquette I jumped up and also bowed to her accepting the gift. I could hardly believe that I should be allowed to meet this beautiful creature twice in a day. And as she passed me the bottle for one fleeting moment our fingertips touched before she pulled away bowing her head coyly. I was still mesmerised by her exquisite beauty and yet bold grace. She bowed to take her leave.
‘Young miss’, I called after her not knowing really what to say next. The best I could think of was to point at the bottle and ask: ‘Does your family make this?’
She curtseyed saying: ‘It is hardly worthy of my lord but we do our best.’
What else could I say to her? I continued blindly with what came to my mind.
‘Your village is a pleasant place.’ I meant it. ‘It reminds me much of my home to the north of the River.’
‘Where is my lord’s home’, she asked me then. I marvelled at the way her lips moved and shaped the syllables. It seemed like an artist whose brush gently caresses the paper leaving stroke upon elegant stroke.
It told her it was many days’ ride in Jiangsu Province and she frowned ever so slightly.
‘My lord is far away from his family’, she commented with a hint of sadness in her voice.
‘We go to war’, I told her, ‘to serve the emperor, to fight those who would see our great empire and its thousand years of unity in shambles.’
She nodded. ‘My lord’s duty is a dangerous one. And a lonely one.’
‘You are right’, I agreed, ‘so will you sit with me and join me while I try a cup from your generous present?’
‘Surely my lord is very busy and does not need a simple peasant girl around while he attends to his business. My lord has a long road ahead of him again in the morrow.’
‘Yes’, I conceded, ‘but as you said it is also a dangerous one. I may well not live to see tomorrow’s sunset. Then would you deny me the pleasure of being in your presence for a while longer?’ Feeling emboldened I added: ‘I find it soothing.’
Her smile was full of warmth and sympathy when she spoke again: ‘My lord carries many burdens. Where is my lord’s wife to help bear the weight?’
I shook my head telling her I had no wife. She apologised but I explained to her that my duty to the empire had not yet allowed me to find a suitable woman and get married to her.
Then out of an impulse I asked her name. She replied shyly that people simply called her Fei. Fei like flying. I wrote the character into the air with my finger. Fei. She waited, probably for me to dismiss her.
‘What do you dream of, Fei’, I asked her before the silence could turn awkward.
She cocked her head in surprise. The motion showed of the elegant curve of her neck.
‘The simple dreams of a simple girl, my lord: a kind husband, a fulfilled life, many healthy children and grandchildren.’
I envied her and I told her so. ‘For’, I said, ‘you may dream of such simple things. My duty forces me to bear in mind the unity of the empire and the safety of my men. But really I would much rather share your dreams.’
She came a step closer then and finally squatted opposite my seat looking at me intently.
Thus we continued speaking until the hour had grown late. She asked me many a question about my family and my life as a soldier. I told her of the battles I had fought and saw her flinch at my description of the peril I had been in. I saw her eyes sparkle when I told her about the Great Wall and the grass land of the north. And she told me of her life in her village and the seasons and the simple pleasures of a summer breeze or the autumn sun. She smiled many a warm smile and though she never stopped calling me ‘her lord’ I could feel the distance between us melt away.
When the time for her to leave had come I accompanied her to her house. There, in the light of the moon, she produced out of her hair a simple wooden comb with a flower carved into it.
‘My lord is very kind and has a gentle heart’, she said, ‘will he accept another humble gift from me. When, after year and day, my lord returns and this comb still reminds him of the simple girl Fei and her simple dreams may he look for me here. Until then I will wait and pray for my lord’s safe return.’
And I bowed to her again saying: ‘I will not forget you Fei. I will come back to find you. Until then I will guard this treasure like my precious eye.’
Thus we parted under the starry sky. The next morning she was nowhere to be seen and the villagers did not know of her. Even when I produced the comb she had given me they assured me there was no such girl living among them. So we broke camp and left without seeing her again. Weeks have come and gone since then but the memory is still fresh.”
The general fell silent for a moment. His hands toyed with the simple, small wooden comb with the flower carved into it. The dragon nodded.
“The tale you tell”, he announced, “is a timeless one as ancient as the world itself. Yet it enchants us anew again and again and never really grows old.”
“Sometimes”, the general confessed pensively, “I wonder if meeting her was not merely a pleasant dream; maybe one that I still have not woken up from. Other times I doubt she was real. Maybe she was a Fox trying to seduce me, testing my resolve and purity.”
The dragon nodded knowingly.
“There are such creatures as you describe. Yet would they not have been more ruthless or aggressive in their approach?”
“Do you believe in true love then?” the general asked abruptly.
“True love”, the dragon mused, “you speak of the kind of love that you chance upon like one of the peaches of immortality that will never grow old or bitter or stale? No. In all my life I have never heard of such a thing.”
The general hung his head.
“You must think me such a fool”, he exclaimed.
“You are no more a fool than the poet who praises the clear lake and the green mountains. He does not see the thunderstorms that descend on them every year nor does he see the lake dry up every dozen or so summers. True love is like the Way. No matter how hard you strive for it you may never achieve perfection, yet your endeavours will bear their own rewards.”
“So you are saying that I should give up my idle dream but live in the real world?” the general questioned.
“I am saying”, the dragon intoned, “that a dream that does not test your patience or your perseverance, your courage or your strength of heart; a dream that is not worth fighting for, that is not worth suffering for, that is not worth dying for – is not worth dreaming at all.”
Jin nodded considering this for a while still turning the comb around and around in his hand. The dragon looked on patiently.
Finally, Jin continued: “The monks said you know the future, great one, as you know the past. If I endeavour hard enough will I see her again?”
“Hmm”, the dragon rumbled, “no one, not even Buddha himself, can see the future in such clarity. Both gods and mortals may step in your way to thwart your plans and dash your hopes. It is up to you to make the choices you can and not look back.”
Then rising he declared: “You have driven off my loneliness for a while, general. I thank you. May you go in peace and find your way.”
The general jumped up almost toppling over the bottle of liquor.
“Great one”, he called out, “I still have so many questions.”
The dragon had already walked out onto the lake but turned once more.
“I have no more advice to offer you. You already know all the answers. Farewell.”
With that the dragon turned again and slowly marched out onto the lake and into the mist leaving the general alone in the little pavilion on the shore of the lake. Then as he reached the middle of the lake there was a flash as of distant lightning and for a moment the general believed he saw a great length of body with an antlered head and gleaming crystal eyes that twisted and turned in several coils until it vanished into the water without so much as a ripple.
Slowly the rain subsided and the mist cleared until only a fine layer remained on the lake’s surface. Long gaps tore into the sheet of clouds that hung in the sky and one by one stars began to twinkle.
Long hours General Jin still sat in the pavilion but he drank no more of the liquor in the bottle. Finally, pulling his cloak tightly around him he fell into a fitful sleep.
When the sun raised him the next morning he climbed onto his horse and rode back to his troops. Another day later they broke camp and marched on toward the west to end a peasant uprising that was led by a charismatic young woman, a girl originally from Zhejiang Province going by the name of Fei Hu – Flying Fox.
The rain started as the sun began to set. It pattered down on the roof of the little, lonely pavilion. It made endlessly complicated ripples on the surface of the lake it overlooked. It ran in tiny waterfalls off the green tiled roof and splashed noisily onto the ground below. Soon puddles had formed around the stairs that led up to the platform. The refreshing summer shower turned into a downpour dense enough to obscure the dark forest on the opposite banks of the lake. A light breeze rose and carried with it the scent of wet grass and wood. The wind chimes dangling from the eves of the roof rang out their melancholic music. Nobody ever heard the sound of a single rain drop falling, the general mused, but a million of them are enough to drown out the battle cries of an entire army.
The general stood perfectly erect in the centre of the small building with its pointed, green tiled roof, sweeping eves and dark wooden posts. His travelling cloak was pulled closely around him to ward off the rising chill. Even now, when there was nobody around he had not undone his hair or rid himself of the cap that was the symbol of his rank. His horse was tied up a short walk away under the trees. He could hear it snort or whinny occasionally. He had brought nothing except a few rice balls and a bottle of liquor. He was waiting for the dragon.
Dusk was slowly settling in as the rain wore on. The general raised his cup, toasting nobody in particular. He knocked it back and warmth trickled down his throat and spread comfortably through his insides. Idly he observed the drip-, drip-, dripping from one of the eves of the pavilion into a puddle underneath where each new drop produced a new concentric, perfectly circular ripple. It was a symmetry that the Great Sage would have been proud of. After the humidity of the day a fog began to rise from the surface of the lake. Its milky veil turned the trees on the opposite shore into mysterious shades drifting in and out between them. Even the great poets' praise for the West Lake seemed pale in comparison. This hidden lake offered true serenity.
He never noticed the figure until it had emerged – without so much as disturbing the water – out of the centre of the lake. Unheeding of the fragile water's surface the shape that had now settled for that of a powerfully built man strode surely across it as if it were solid stone. It was wearing a grand, richly ornate suit of mail with a finely crafted breast plate that even General Cao Cao would have envied. His robes were of a sky blue and dusk blue, purple and a starry silver. At his side the man carried a decorated broadsword. His silvery beard tumbled like a frothy waterfall over his chest down to his belt. Only as he approached closer did the general take note of the stubby antlers on the top of the man’s head.
As the being that looked like a man strode up to the pavilion the general dropped down on one knee.
"Do I have the distinct honour of addressing the Silver Dragon of the South?", he enquired without looking up.
"People have called me many names over the centuries", the dragon replied. His voice was a deep rumble yet every syllable came out pronounced round and full and beautiful with a touch of nobility. "It has always pleased you mortals to call me what you wish."
"I am but a humble servant and of not much use to one such as you", the general intoned. "Dictate and I shall obey."
The dragon chuckled and it sounded like water lapping against the side of a keg.
"You have come a long way indeed to tell me that you are no use to me", he observed. Startled the general raised his head, forgetting etiquette. The dragon's eyes, clear as polished crystal, studied the general who dared not return the gaze but stared vaguely at the dragon's chest plate. Embossed in it was a bizarre grimace staring back at him. He noticed that none of the dragon's garbs were wet – neither from the water through which he had emerged nor from the rain which was soaking everything else.
"I ...", he began, "I have come this far to seek your immeasurable wisdom, great one. Taoist monks in the temple nearby told me about you. I come to you seeking purity of thought and clarity of mind."
The dragon nodded gravely still holding the general transfixed in his gaze.
"I know of you", the dragon spoke slowly as if reflecting on every word before uttering it, "the winds have whispered it to me. You are General Jin Su Liang from Jiangsu Province. You come from your campaign in the far north where none other than the Son of Heaven himself ordered you to lead his armies against the barbarians called the Xiong Nu. Your endeavours in the field have been rewarded with great success. His Majesty even bestowed on you the title of General Who Pacifies the North. Now you are on your way west from your home where it pleases the Son of Heaven that you shall smite a peasant revolt that is troubling the Empire. You have proven great prowess and cunning in the field while maintaining utmost integrity and loyalty to the throne. Thanks to you China will be safe once more. What for could a man of your stature require any more clarity of thought or purity of mind? What wisdom could I have to offer you that you do not already possess?"
"But you are a dragon, my lord", Jin objected surprised. "I am nothing compared to you. I am but an ant while your might is the sky above me."
"They call you the Tiger of the North", the dragon reminded him gently, "soon they will call you the Dragon of the West."
"I would never dare to even allow myself to be called that so as not to offend your splendour", Jin affirmed.
The dragon lips curled in an amused smile. "You have no say in what people call you – be it by word or by lash. But it is no false modesty that makes me speak thusly – I have no military expertise to offer you."
Jin bowed his head.
"Sad and lonely my days are, General", the dragon resumed after a brief pause", speak with me." He motioned towards the bench that surrounded the circular platform. "Come, rise and let us sit and talk like civilised folk."
Jin obeyed and sat on the wooden bench as the dragon lowered himself onto the bench opposite him. Only now he remembered the drink. He produced the bottle.
"It is cheap and not worthy of a palate as refined as yours but may I offer you my cup to drink?"
The dragon took the proffered cup with a nod, inhaled, then took a sip. Without a word he handed back the cup motioning Jin to drink. Only after Jin had himself lowered the cup the dragon sighed and smiled.
"Now tell me your story, General", he rumbled. "Tell me what really brings you here and what holds your mind and heart of hearts."
“It has been a long journey, my lord”, Jin began quietly, his head bowed, more to himself than anybody in particular. He was still trying to avoid the dragon’s piercing gaze.
“Sometimes”, he continued, “I hardly remember the last time I saw my home town, spoke with my mother or paid my respect to our ancestors.”
The general paused reminiscing. The dragon shifted on the seat looking expectantly.
When the general still hesitated he asked: “And that weighs heavy on you and burdens your conscience?”
The general sighed. He gazed out into the rain. It was almost time to light the little lamp that hung in the centre under the roof.
“It’s been a long time since I have seen my home”, he began again, “I went to war. In the grass lands of the far north I fought the mounted barbarians with sword and spear and bow. I saw wonders that few in my day may behold: The Great Wall that Emperor Qin Shi Huang first commissioned. It stands now, generations after him, in even greater splendour with the imperial banners still flying high on every turret in the morning breeze. I saw the mighty gates of Beijing, the West Lake of Hangzhou and we even made a stop at Mount Tai to pray for good fortune. That is to say the other generals prayed for success and good fortune. But I am ashamed to admit that I prayed to the Immortals only for myself.
In Zhejiang Province we stopped to rest in a small village, me with a troop of soldiers. The villagers were in awe, some seemed afraid. There I saw her: a young woman, probably the daughter of a local farmer carrying a large basket. Suddenly in comparison to her the all the great wonders of China seemed insignificant. She moved among her peers like a dancer. Her colourful dress simple though it was seemed to shine like a rainbow before grey clouds. Her features were delicate as if cast in fine porcelain or wrought out of jade. And her eyes were large and clear and deep. Even the memory of the golden sun rising over Mount Tai seemed to loose its brilliance the moment I laid eyes on her. And as our gazes met she looked back and smiled. But before I could utter a word or greeting she had disappeared around the corner of a house. When I dismounted and ran after her to at least ask her name I saw her walking toward the fields. Just when I was about to call after her she looked back over her shoulder and smiled again. Suddenly I felt foolish – not like a man but like a young boy.
Later that evening she came to our camp carrying a clay bottle. She bowed before me and presented me the bottle. When she spoke she had the delicate accent of the region but nonetheless her Mandarin was flawless.
‘General, to show our respect and loyalty for our lord our village would like to present our lord with this humble gift. We apologise that it is not more but we are poor and can give little else. We wish our lord a hundred years of good health.’
Forgetting etiquette I jumped up and also bowed to her accepting the gift. I could hardly believe that I should be allowed to meet this beautiful creature twice in a day. And as she passed me the bottle for one fleeting moment our fingertips touched before she pulled away bowing her head coyly. I was still mesmerised by her exquisite beauty and yet bold grace. She bowed to take her leave.
‘Young miss’, I called after her not knowing really what to say next. The best I could think of was to point at the bottle and ask: ‘Does your family make this?’
She curtseyed saying: ‘It is hardly worthy of my lord but we do our best.’
What else could I say to her? I continued blindly with what came to my mind.
‘Your village is a pleasant place.’ I meant it. ‘It reminds me much of my home to the north of the River.’
‘Where is my lord’s home’, she asked me then. I marvelled at the way her lips moved and shaped the syllables. It seemed like an artist whose brush gently caresses the paper leaving stroke upon elegant stroke.
It told her it was many days’ ride in Jiangsu Province and she frowned ever so slightly.
‘My lord is far away from his family’, she commented with a hint of sadness in her voice.
‘We go to war’, I told her, ‘to serve the emperor, to fight those who would see our great empire and its thousand years of unity in shambles.’
She nodded. ‘My lord’s duty is a dangerous one. And a lonely one.’
‘You are right’, I agreed, ‘so will you sit with me and join me while I try a cup from your generous present?’
‘Surely my lord is very busy and does not need a simple peasant girl around while he attends to his business. My lord has a long road ahead of him again in the morrow.’
‘Yes’, I conceded, ‘but as you said it is also a dangerous one. I may well not live to see tomorrow’s sunset. Then would you deny me the pleasure of being in your presence for a while longer?’ Feeling emboldened I added: ‘I find it soothing.’
Her smile was full of warmth and sympathy when she spoke again: ‘My lord carries many burdens. Where is my lord’s wife to help bear the weight?’
I shook my head telling her I had no wife. She apologised but I explained to her that my duty to the empire had not yet allowed me to find a suitable woman and get married to her.
Then out of an impulse I asked her name. She replied shyly that people simply called her Fei. Fei like flying. I wrote the character into the air with my finger. Fei. She waited, probably for me to dismiss her.
‘What do you dream of, Fei’, I asked her before the silence could turn awkward.
She cocked her head in surprise. The motion showed of the elegant curve of her neck.
‘The simple dreams of a simple girl, my lord: a kind husband, a fulfilled life, many healthy children and grandchildren.’
I envied her and I told her so. ‘For’, I said, ‘you may dream of such simple things. My duty forces me to bear in mind the unity of the empire and the safety of my men. But really I would much rather share your dreams.’
She came a step closer then and finally squatted opposite my seat looking at me intently.
Thus we continued speaking until the hour had grown late. She asked me many a question about my family and my life as a soldier. I told her of the battles I had fought and saw her flinch at my description of the peril I had been in. I saw her eyes sparkle when I told her about the Great Wall and the grass land of the north. And she told me of her life in her village and the seasons and the simple pleasures of a summer breeze or the autumn sun. She smiled many a warm smile and though she never stopped calling me ‘her lord’ I could feel the distance between us melt away.
When the time for her to leave had come I accompanied her to her house. There, in the light of the moon, she produced out of her hair a simple wooden comb with a flower carved into it.
‘My lord is very kind and has a gentle heart’, she said, ‘will he accept another humble gift from me. When, after year and day, my lord returns and this comb still reminds him of the simple girl Fei and her simple dreams may he look for me here. Until then I will wait and pray for my lord’s safe return.’
And I bowed to her again saying: ‘I will not forget you Fei. I will come back to find you. Until then I will guard this treasure like my precious eye.’
Thus we parted under the starry sky. The next morning she was nowhere to be seen and the villagers did not know of her. Even when I produced the comb she had given me they assured me there was no such girl living among them. So we broke camp and left without seeing her again. Weeks have come and gone since then but the memory is still fresh.”
The general fell silent for a moment. His hands toyed with the simple, small wooden comb with the flower carved into it. The dragon nodded.
“The tale you tell”, he announced, “is a timeless one as ancient as the world itself. Yet it enchants us anew again and again and never really grows old.”
“Sometimes”, the general confessed pensively, “I wonder if meeting her was not merely a pleasant dream; maybe one that I still have not woken up from. Other times I doubt she was real. Maybe she was a Fox trying to seduce me, testing my resolve and purity.”
The dragon nodded knowingly.
“There are such creatures as you describe. Yet would they not have been more ruthless or aggressive in their approach?”
“Do you believe in true love then?” the general asked abruptly.
“True love”, the dragon mused, “you speak of the kind of love that you chance upon like one of the peaches of immortality that will never grow old or bitter or stale? No. In all my life I have never heard of such a thing.”
The general hung his head.
“You must think me such a fool”, he exclaimed.
“You are no more a fool than the poet who praises the clear lake and the green mountains. He does not see the thunderstorms that descend on them every year nor does he see the lake dry up every dozen or so summers. True love is like the Way. No matter how hard you strive for it you may never achieve perfection, yet your endeavours will bear their own rewards.”
“So you are saying that I should give up my idle dream but live in the real world?” the general questioned.
“I am saying”, the dragon intoned, “that a dream that does not test your patience or your perseverance, your courage or your strength of heart; a dream that is not worth fighting for, that is not worth suffering for, that is not worth dying for – is not worth dreaming at all.”
Jin nodded considering this for a while still turning the comb around and around in his hand. The dragon looked on patiently.
Finally, Jin continued: “The monks said you know the future, great one, as you know the past. If I endeavour hard enough will I see her again?”
“Hmm”, the dragon rumbled, “no one, not even Buddha himself, can see the future in such clarity. Both gods and mortals may step in your way to thwart your plans and dash your hopes. It is up to you to make the choices you can and not look back.”
Then rising he declared: “You have driven off my loneliness for a while, general. I thank you. May you go in peace and find your way.”
The general jumped up almost toppling over the bottle of liquor.
“Great one”, he called out, “I still have so many questions.”
The dragon had already walked out onto the lake but turned once more.
“I have no more advice to offer you. You already know all the answers. Farewell.”
With that the dragon turned again and slowly marched out onto the lake and into the mist leaving the general alone in the little pavilion on the shore of the lake. Then as he reached the middle of the lake there was a flash as of distant lightning and for a moment the general believed he saw a great length of body with an antlered head and gleaming crystal eyes that twisted and turned in several coils until it vanished into the water without so much as a ripple.
Slowly the rain subsided and the mist cleared until only a fine layer remained on the lake’s surface. Long gaps tore into the sheet of clouds that hung in the sky and one by one stars began to twinkle.
Long hours General Jin still sat in the pavilion but he drank no more of the liquor in the bottle. Finally, pulling his cloak tightly around him he fell into a fitful sleep.
When the sun raised him the next morning he climbed onto his horse and rode back to his troops. Another day later they broke camp and marched on toward the west to end a peasant uprising that was led by a charismatic young woman, a girl originally from Zhejiang Province going by the name of Fei Hu – Flying Fox.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Between Two Whistles
Here's another short story. Again, it's based on true feelings. Seems I've been inspired this week. It's a way to pass lonely evenings and my mind off things. Hope you like this one.
The whistle blows shrilly echoing through the station hall. It even drowns out the din of the crowd for a moment. People are coming and going, pushing and shoving. The vast hall is filled with noise and the smoke and steam from the great engines.
But all that is not important. There is her in front of me. Her large brown eyes are locked with mine. Eyes are the window to the soul. So I let myself sink into the soul of that wonderful being that holds my gaze, that holds my heart. She holds every fiber of my being. She knows that. And I'm lost. Willingly and happily. I love you, those eyes tell me. I'll always love you. No matter where you are, what you do. You are the one I adore. I see a passion deep as the ocean. It doesn't burn bright anymore like fire. That's only for those sweet first months. Her passion is of a different quality altogether. It makes her glow from within. It's like with coals. A wood fire burns bright and fast but is easy to extinguish. But try to put out glowing coals once they are hot enough to melt iron. She told me about this once. She knows so much. That's one reason I love her. One glance and she seems to have figured me out. She understands me better than I understand myself sometimes. I don't know where I'd be without her. How comforting her presence is. It's like a warm blanket for my soul. When she is there I know things can't be as bad as they look. With her around I have faith. I believe we will find a way no matter how difficult things may look. I let myself fall into that deep well that is her eyes. The love I find there envelopes me, shields me but it also gives me strength and courage. The strength to grow beyond myself, the will to be more than I am, to strive for higher goals. And she, like a gentle goddess, bestows on me the courage to go forth and do what I must do. I do it for her. Without questioning, without doubt.
The despots of the past were all wrong. Loyalty can't be forced. Even the political icons of the modern world are mistaken. Promises can't win the hearts and minds of their citizens. Love can't be bought. Trust can't be bribed. In fact, that's what makes it the most valuable commodity of all. It comes for free but once broken no money in the world can buy it back. She also taught me this. And I do trust her. For the smile on her lips I would walk through fire. For the caress of her hand I'd swim an ocean of storms and maelstroms. And for the place in her heart I'd travel to hell and back without a second thought. I'd do that for her and her alone. And I'm in heaven knowing that this beautiful creature loves me back. And I know she'd never ask for any proof. Because a look in my eyes will tell her all she needs to know.
Looking into each other's eyes like this we need no spoken words. I can almost see her thoughts pan out in front of me. I see the many ways she can love me. The manifold ways she adores me. I see the countless memories we share. There's us lying next to each other in fields of golden barley staring at the sky. There's us gazing at the sunset across the lake. There's her first and completely failed attempt at cooking dinner and my even more failed attempt at assisting her. How horrible it tasted and how we laughed. There's the time a downpour surprised us on the way home from the inn when we sought shelter under the narrow porch of somebody's house. We were completely drenched and her dress clung beautifully to her body. There's the time I nursed her for several days when she had the shakes and high fever. There's, of course, our first kiss. At first neither of dared to make a move until in the end we bumped heads. Then there's the passion we shared last night. All our lives together pan out like a grand painting. Everything that led us to how we feel today, right now.
There's also fear in her eyes. Fear because of what's happening around us in the world. Fear because the future has made a turn for the worse and we can't know where we are going anymore. There's the desperate wish that we could forget all this and go back to the way things used to be. To the fields of innocence. And I wish with all my heart that I could grant her that. Like a genie just by snapping my fingers. But I cannot. There is no way back. We both know that. The world has descended into turmoil. A turmoil that threatens to swallow everything in its path like a hungry beast. Just like it devoured our paradise on earth. It forces us to do things that are against our nature. It forces man to lift his hand in anger against man. And it forces me to part with the one I swore never to abandon, the one whose presence is more precious to me than the warmth of the sun. My love. My life. My one and only. My everything. The unthinkable has become reality. Powers greater than us demand it. So I must go and follow. I cannot even resent it. That is the way things are. I look into her eyes and we understand. There is no option, no choice, no alternative.
There's just that little flicker in her eyes that says: “I cannot live without you.” “Come back to me”, her eyes say to me, and: “I'll wait for you.” “I'm yours”, her eyes tell me. “Always”, they affirm. “Don't ever forget that”, they reinforce. “I'm with you where-ever you go”, they console me. “In my heart I am”, they add. “Come back to me”, they implore one more time, and: “Be safe.” “For God's sake, be safe.” And in my mind I tell her all the things she already knows, knowing she can see them in my eyes as clearly as though I had said them aloud. “I would never forget you”, I say. “You're mine and I'm yours”, I state. “Be strong”, I beg her, “for both of us.” “I'll come back to you soon”, I comfort her. “Everything will turn out well”, I tell her what she wants me to say. “Nothing can ever keep us apart”, I promise her then in the silence between us, “not distance, not enemy lines, not even death itself.”
There's nothing left to say aloud. And as other couples embrace and make each other tearful promises and parents give their sons their wishes and encouragements. Wives and mothers cry and fathers try to look proud of their sons. But none of that matters. We stand in silence in a space where no words are needed. But we share this moment and for the span of a heartbeat the world seems to fade away and we are alone. We're running across fields and kissing in the rain.
Then the whistle blows a second time and the moment passes. It's time to go. At last, I let go of her hand that I realise I've been squeezing. I'm huddled into the carriage full of other young men waving their farewells. The noise comes rushing back into the world. The door slams shut. The hiss of the engine cuts through the noise like a knife. With a jolt the carriage starts to roll. And still, all I see is her figure standing at the platform edge. Her slender hands are clutching at her skirt. “I love you”, her eyes are shouting after me. Then she's lost among the crowd as we accelerate toward our uncertain destiny. Death or glory. Who can tell? I dare not hope for anything.
Only one thing we can rely on: Our love will stand true though everything else may fail.
The whistle blows shrilly echoing through the station hall. It even drowns out the din of the crowd for a moment. People are coming and going, pushing and shoving. The vast hall is filled with noise and the smoke and steam from the great engines.
But all that is not important. There is her in front of me. Her large brown eyes are locked with mine. Eyes are the window to the soul. So I let myself sink into the soul of that wonderful being that holds my gaze, that holds my heart. She holds every fiber of my being. She knows that. And I'm lost. Willingly and happily. I love you, those eyes tell me. I'll always love you. No matter where you are, what you do. You are the one I adore. I see a passion deep as the ocean. It doesn't burn bright anymore like fire. That's only for those sweet first months. Her passion is of a different quality altogether. It makes her glow from within. It's like with coals. A wood fire burns bright and fast but is easy to extinguish. But try to put out glowing coals once they are hot enough to melt iron. She told me about this once. She knows so much. That's one reason I love her. One glance and she seems to have figured me out. She understands me better than I understand myself sometimes. I don't know where I'd be without her. How comforting her presence is. It's like a warm blanket for my soul. When she is there I know things can't be as bad as they look. With her around I have faith. I believe we will find a way no matter how difficult things may look. I let myself fall into that deep well that is her eyes. The love I find there envelopes me, shields me but it also gives me strength and courage. The strength to grow beyond myself, the will to be more than I am, to strive for higher goals. And she, like a gentle goddess, bestows on me the courage to go forth and do what I must do. I do it for her. Without questioning, without doubt.
The despots of the past were all wrong. Loyalty can't be forced. Even the political icons of the modern world are mistaken. Promises can't win the hearts and minds of their citizens. Love can't be bought. Trust can't be bribed. In fact, that's what makes it the most valuable commodity of all. It comes for free but once broken no money in the world can buy it back. She also taught me this. And I do trust her. For the smile on her lips I would walk through fire. For the caress of her hand I'd swim an ocean of storms and maelstroms. And for the place in her heart I'd travel to hell and back without a second thought. I'd do that for her and her alone. And I'm in heaven knowing that this beautiful creature loves me back. And I know she'd never ask for any proof. Because a look in my eyes will tell her all she needs to know.
Looking into each other's eyes like this we need no spoken words. I can almost see her thoughts pan out in front of me. I see the many ways she can love me. The manifold ways she adores me. I see the countless memories we share. There's us lying next to each other in fields of golden barley staring at the sky. There's us gazing at the sunset across the lake. There's her first and completely failed attempt at cooking dinner and my even more failed attempt at assisting her. How horrible it tasted and how we laughed. There's the time a downpour surprised us on the way home from the inn when we sought shelter under the narrow porch of somebody's house. We were completely drenched and her dress clung beautifully to her body. There's the time I nursed her for several days when she had the shakes and high fever. There's, of course, our first kiss. At first neither of dared to make a move until in the end we bumped heads. Then there's the passion we shared last night. All our lives together pan out like a grand painting. Everything that led us to how we feel today, right now.
There's also fear in her eyes. Fear because of what's happening around us in the world. Fear because the future has made a turn for the worse and we can't know where we are going anymore. There's the desperate wish that we could forget all this and go back to the way things used to be. To the fields of innocence. And I wish with all my heart that I could grant her that. Like a genie just by snapping my fingers. But I cannot. There is no way back. We both know that. The world has descended into turmoil. A turmoil that threatens to swallow everything in its path like a hungry beast. Just like it devoured our paradise on earth. It forces us to do things that are against our nature. It forces man to lift his hand in anger against man. And it forces me to part with the one I swore never to abandon, the one whose presence is more precious to me than the warmth of the sun. My love. My life. My one and only. My everything. The unthinkable has become reality. Powers greater than us demand it. So I must go and follow. I cannot even resent it. That is the way things are. I look into her eyes and we understand. There is no option, no choice, no alternative.
There's just that little flicker in her eyes that says: “I cannot live without you.” “Come back to me”, her eyes say to me, and: “I'll wait for you.” “I'm yours”, her eyes tell me. “Always”, they affirm. “Don't ever forget that”, they reinforce. “I'm with you where-ever you go”, they console me. “In my heart I am”, they add. “Come back to me”, they implore one more time, and: “Be safe.” “For God's sake, be safe.” And in my mind I tell her all the things she already knows, knowing she can see them in my eyes as clearly as though I had said them aloud. “I would never forget you”, I say. “You're mine and I'm yours”, I state. “Be strong”, I beg her, “for both of us.” “I'll come back to you soon”, I comfort her. “Everything will turn out well”, I tell her what she wants me to say. “Nothing can ever keep us apart”, I promise her then in the silence between us, “not distance, not enemy lines, not even death itself.”
There's nothing left to say aloud. And as other couples embrace and make each other tearful promises and parents give their sons their wishes and encouragements. Wives and mothers cry and fathers try to look proud of their sons. But none of that matters. We stand in silence in a space where no words are needed. But we share this moment and for the span of a heartbeat the world seems to fade away and we are alone. We're running across fields and kissing in the rain.
Then the whistle blows a second time and the moment passes. It's time to go. At last, I let go of her hand that I realise I've been squeezing. I'm huddled into the carriage full of other young men waving their farewells. The noise comes rushing back into the world. The door slams shut. The hiss of the engine cuts through the noise like a knife. With a jolt the carriage starts to roll. And still, all I see is her figure standing at the platform edge. Her slender hands are clutching at her skirt. “I love you”, her eyes are shouting after me. Then she's lost among the crowd as we accelerate toward our uncertain destiny. Death or glory. Who can tell? I dare not hope for anything.
Only one thing we can rely on: Our love will stand true though everything else may fail.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Einstein's Lost Love
Here's a short story I wrote. There's some truth in it - the one I love is very far away. That's what inspired me to write it. Without further ado - enjoy!
Distance is measured in many ways. A few nanometers in wavelength decide whether we see light as red or green. A few inches mean you're tall or short. A few meters determine the outcome of a race. A few blocks can be a long drive in New York traffic. Some 26,000 miles or four continents and three oceans were the distance Phileas Fogg traveled in 80 days. And it's some 4.2 light-years from the sun to the nearest star Proxima Centauri.
620 light-years separate me from the one I love. This means the light itself needs 620 years to traverse this distance. And nothing can go faster. That's what Einstein teaches us. 620 years of cold, dark emptiness of space rushing by. Traveling at relativistic speeds using a vessel propelled by an Einsteinian Drive it would take me about a month and a half. That is the time that would have passed on me when I reached Earth. At such speeds, however, even time is relative. Travel at light speed and time would stand still for you. That's also Einstein. On Earth over 700 years would have passed. My beard would have grown a bit but besides that you wouldn't notice the difference. But I wouldn't find anybody waiting for me. She would be long gone. And her children. And their children. And their children's children. And so on until they didn't even remember her name or that she existed.
The surface of the nearest star burns at five million degrees centigrade. It's a galactic nuclear fusion reactor. It bestowed the gift of life on an entire planet. Yet I feel cold. The dark loneliness of space chills me to the bone.
Doubt that the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt that I love.
It's foolish to hold on. Everyone tells me so. But can a meteor stop its downward course even though it will crash and burn? Can a tree stop growing even though the sun will dry it out next summer. Or does a trapped animal cling to life any less? Can the planets keep from turning? Out here I miss her like I miss the warmth of the morning sun or the green of fresh grass, like the sound of wind in the trees or smell of lavender in spring. A part of myself is missing. It remains back on Earth. Like an anchor. Like a life line. Painful though it may be it is this pain that tells me I'm alive and that there's something worth living for. Even the thought of her brings colour or a spark of warmth.
Sometimes I imagine she's just away, coming back soon. She's taken a shuttle down for a surface expedition. I've just missed her and she's gone but she'll come back soon. There's nothing to worry about, the distance just feels like light-years. Just be patient for a few days. Then days turn into a week, which turns into a month. And when she doesn't return I tell myself she's been delayed. The expedition is just taking a bit longer than expected. Just be patient. Work plods on, life continues. Of course, she doesn't return and the shuttles that come and go occasionally carry other people but not her. Because she's on a blue-green planet 620 light-years from here.
Sometimes when I hear her voice looking at her image I can almost feel her presence. It's as if I could just reach out and touch her face. Maybe when I'm tired I could lay my head on her shoulder and rest my mind and my body. It feels as if I could just lean forward and smell her freshly washed hair, feel its spiky texture. If I lean in a bit more I could taste her skin, her lips. I would hold her tight with both arms and her warmth would flood through me and drive out the chill. The beating of her heart would merge with mine. The rhythm of life. It's easy to imagine my tongue brushing against hers, probing and passionately wrestling. Her breath would flow into me and, after awhile, it would pass back to her and the cycle would start again. Maybe my mouth would find its way down her neck. I would tease her and she would giggle. Clothes would wind up in a pile on the ground and things would take their natural course. And afterwards she would smile at me and her smile would be more resplendent than that of a thousand suns. Because she smiles for me. Now she smiles happily at the camera.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Space is vast, it's endless, the theories go, ever expanding. Yet in all its vastness it seems to close in on me, smother me sometimes. The ones that go outside the ship in a suit need their oxygen supply – I need her. Be it only the memory that she loves me back somewhere across the stars. She's there thinking of me. I don't want to return anymore. Returning would mean to live in a different epoch from her. It would mean for her remaining life to pass in the blink of an eye. I want to stay like this to be certain of her love. I don't want to let her go.
The greatest thing you'll ever learn,
Is just to love and be loved in return.
But as the next jump is being plotted I know that it cannot last. I will leave her behind in time and space. Distance will stretch from kilometers to light-years to parsecs. My time line will split from hers. Things will change. What is now will soon be distant history. Will she remember me? Will she look up to the stars as I look at them and wonder if we're still looking at the same ones? Will she move on? Will she be happy? And then when the cosmic twinkle of her life is up, when her children down to her distant descendants have passed out of the world, when the Earth itself has almost forgotten her name what will be left? Only a handful of dust and a box of recording disks. But I that I travel at relativistic speeds will still remember her and love her. Because love needs no reason. Because love is not relative.
Distance is measured in many ways. A few nanometers in wavelength decide whether we see light as red or green. A few inches mean you're tall or short. A few meters determine the outcome of a race. A few blocks can be a long drive in New York traffic. Some 26,000 miles or four continents and three oceans were the distance Phileas Fogg traveled in 80 days. And it's some 4.2 light-years from the sun to the nearest star Proxima Centauri.
620 light-years separate me from the one I love. This means the light itself needs 620 years to traverse this distance. And nothing can go faster. That's what Einstein teaches us. 620 years of cold, dark emptiness of space rushing by. Traveling at relativistic speeds using a vessel propelled by an Einsteinian Drive it would take me about a month and a half. That is the time that would have passed on me when I reached Earth. At such speeds, however, even time is relative. Travel at light speed and time would stand still for you. That's also Einstein. On Earth over 700 years would have passed. My beard would have grown a bit but besides that you wouldn't notice the difference. But I wouldn't find anybody waiting for me. She would be long gone. And her children. And their children. And their children's children. And so on until they didn't even remember her name or that she existed.
The surface of the nearest star burns at five million degrees centigrade. It's a galactic nuclear fusion reactor. It bestowed the gift of life on an entire planet. Yet I feel cold. The dark loneliness of space chills me to the bone.
Doubt that the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt that I love.
It's foolish to hold on. Everyone tells me so. But can a meteor stop its downward course even though it will crash and burn? Can a tree stop growing even though the sun will dry it out next summer. Or does a trapped animal cling to life any less? Can the planets keep from turning? Out here I miss her like I miss the warmth of the morning sun or the green of fresh grass, like the sound of wind in the trees or smell of lavender in spring. A part of myself is missing. It remains back on Earth. Like an anchor. Like a life line. Painful though it may be it is this pain that tells me I'm alive and that there's something worth living for. Even the thought of her brings colour or a spark of warmth.
Sometimes I imagine she's just away, coming back soon. She's taken a shuttle down for a surface expedition. I've just missed her and she's gone but she'll come back soon. There's nothing to worry about, the distance just feels like light-years. Just be patient for a few days. Then days turn into a week, which turns into a month. And when she doesn't return I tell myself she's been delayed. The expedition is just taking a bit longer than expected. Just be patient. Work plods on, life continues. Of course, she doesn't return and the shuttles that come and go occasionally carry other people but not her. Because she's on a blue-green planet 620 light-years from here.
Sometimes when I hear her voice looking at her image I can almost feel her presence. It's as if I could just reach out and touch her face. Maybe when I'm tired I could lay my head on her shoulder and rest my mind and my body. It feels as if I could just lean forward and smell her freshly washed hair, feel its spiky texture. If I lean in a bit more I could taste her skin, her lips. I would hold her tight with both arms and her warmth would flood through me and drive out the chill. The beating of her heart would merge with mine. The rhythm of life. It's easy to imagine my tongue brushing against hers, probing and passionately wrestling. Her breath would flow into me and, after awhile, it would pass back to her and the cycle would start again. Maybe my mouth would find its way down her neck. I would tease her and she would giggle. Clothes would wind up in a pile on the ground and things would take their natural course. And afterwards she would smile at me and her smile would be more resplendent than that of a thousand suns. Because she smiles for me. Now she smiles happily at the camera.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Space is vast, it's endless, the theories go, ever expanding. Yet in all its vastness it seems to close in on me, smother me sometimes. The ones that go outside the ship in a suit need their oxygen supply – I need her. Be it only the memory that she loves me back somewhere across the stars. She's there thinking of me. I don't want to return anymore. Returning would mean to live in a different epoch from her. It would mean for her remaining life to pass in the blink of an eye. I want to stay like this to be certain of her love. I don't want to let her go.
The greatest thing you'll ever learn,
Is just to love and be loved in return.
But as the next jump is being plotted I know that it cannot last. I will leave her behind in time and space. Distance will stretch from kilometers to light-years to parsecs. My time line will split from hers. Things will change. What is now will soon be distant history. Will she remember me? Will she look up to the stars as I look at them and wonder if we're still looking at the same ones? Will she move on? Will she be happy? And then when the cosmic twinkle of her life is up, when her children down to her distant descendants have passed out of the world, when the Earth itself has almost forgotten her name what will be left? Only a handful of dust and a box of recording disks. But I that I travel at relativistic speeds will still remember her and love her. Because love needs no reason. Because love is not relative.
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