THE LONG WINTER
My life. A screen
My food. Pictures
My air. Words
None Filmmaker
A late October afternoon. A residential area of a east coast city. A polished neoclassic building. A salon warmed up by ebony and ancient oriental silk. The three pieces suit heard the door closing behind himself and, with a few steady steps, headed for the sofa. Little more than a mattress covered with several layers of cushions. Feathers of some bird threatened with extinction, certainly. The last rays of sunlight were playing with the crystal drops of a chandelier, and drawing arabesques on the coffee table. The man, legs indifferently crossed, was pursuing the lines intertwining, arms left on the embroidered back. Something. The curtains. They were...amber, last time. From a distance, the rustling of trees fondled by the wind. The man closed his eyes, deeply sighing. A silent figure stood out behind him, where at first have been carpets and a tactful lavender scent.
"Li. It's lovely to see you"
"It's always a pleasure to have you in my humble residence. Rarely it welcomes somebody who can actually appreciate its sweetnesses"
"I see your little family is grown"
"Uh..."
The man lifted a tiny silver object from a sideboard. Louis XV, probably.
"Just something I found out during the last trip. It was resting in a neglected warehouse. It was meant to keep the Taj Mahal lady company, but owner and cub have been so far for a very long time, I just don't think she'll be offended" Li grinned, showing the elephantine shape of the object "an enchanting story. Have you ever heard of it?"
"I don't think so"
"Then, if you don't mind, I'll tell you" the figure, with oriental features, drew near the coffee table "in the great India, before the English people taught polo and thug hunt, a maharajah ruled in justice and peace a rich country. He owned elephants and treasures, and he was favored by the gods. But his karma had predestined his loneliness, and his beloved spouse died after a short time of delight, without the gift of an heir. India is a country of contradictions, of monuments and slums, of temples and castes. The maharajah built a palace, for his lady. A marble and gold palace that could be admired even from the sacred river springs, and where she could wait for the next turn of the life wheel"
"Taj Mahal" the dark suit man whispered, accepting from Li the cup of mint tea.
"Exactly. A sacred place, before becoming a tourist postcard"
"Enchanting indeed" the guest said, following with his fingertips the relief cup decoration.
Li, in the meantime, had stood up "The lady won't be offended" he keep on repeating as a mantra, dropping the little elephant in its place again. "Here it is" he ended, with a last caress.
"An other cup? It's a special blend"
"Have you left your Darjeeling?"
"Never. A friend of mine gave me a small selection, and I want to share it with a connoisseur"
"It's excellent, even tough I prefer the Chinese ones"
"Yeah. An other something I just can't repudiate about my country" Li said, staring into space.
"Anyway. What do you have for me? I think our next meeting was due in two months"
"Something could really interest you" a strange gloom filled the room: the light fingertips of nightfall now become claws "the wind is bringing an other voice, in this time that open the great cold gates"
Scratches of paleness wounded now the void face of the three pieces suit man.
"Damn"