Eva Colombo, A day in exile, second chapter: The morning horse chestnut tree
( Inspired by Armand Point’s drawing Hélène Linder 1893 )
You fear the dawn, I know. Because often at dawn your sleepless eyes burn
unbearably. And I know also that you are horrified by the morning since at
morning the foolish trample of men dries up you, the meaningless words of men
desiccate you. The fear of dawn and the horror of morning lick up your night as
a lava flow and your tears are like pearls lost in an ashen desert. Now it is
night and you don’t sleep, listen to me. You know who I am and you know my name,
only you know it: some strange name which has the sound of a scarab’s wings.
Pronounce my name when the dawn is coming and my fingers will graze your burning
eyes and they will put in safety your precious tears. Pronounce my name when the
rising sun wounds your eyelids shut as valves of a shell which shields its
treasure and you will see me… You will see me near the horse chestnut tree that
you are used to visit at sunset, on that bank where a river’s loop seems to
stretch itself towards the dying sun as if the river were unwilling to let the
sun go. In the morning I guard the shade of April leaves on the river, I prevent
anybody from reading what the horse chestnut tree’s shade writes on the water
because I know that those words are destined to you, to you alone. With my eyes
azure like the April sky I stare at another way and the intruders follow my gaze
hoping to see that more azure way and they turn their back to the words of the
shade. Pronounce my name when the April morning torments you with its beauty
that you can’t seize and you wonder for what purpose another springtime has been
granted you… Then you will see that my hair is parted into two tresses linked
upon my chest by means of a blue – green Egyptian scarab and you will know that
the knots woven by destiny in your past would become your most precious necklace
if you will be able to turn into human words what the morning sun writes upon
the river’s water by means of the shade of the horse chestnut leaves. When the
sun at sunset will lighten the horse chestnut’s shade you will join me on this
bank and you will pronounce my name: that name known only to you, some strange
name which has the sound of a scarab’s wings. Then I will vanish and all alone
near the horse chestnut tree you will read those shade’s words which I’ve
guarded during the day. And you will understand them, and you will turn them
into wise human words, and you will write them for those who need to read them.
For this purpose you came into the world, as the morning sun does, again and
again. |
