Whose coming is as light and music are
Mid dissonance and gloom – a star.
Posthumous poems
- Shelley.
A compartament in some train or other in years before world turned upside down. In there on the reddish plush benches sat very straight, creamy-skinned pale, black-haired woman with challenging slightly slanted amber colored eyes, pomeranian red long gloves, no hat at all, and a dark primrose-colored elegant suit, with a creamy light handkerchief.
The train crossed its path, towards new unknown destinations. The woman's name was Katherine Brooke, Mademoiselle, no marriages to her, she was a former Summerside high school teacher, now a world traveler, and now she escaped.
For years, Katherine had lived with one foot in the doorway of impossible far away dreams, and her fingers writing travel plans, of Taj Mahal and the Ancient temples of Greek and divine beauty of Romes seven hills in the moonlight.. When that time finally came and the world opened in all its colors in Summerside it was because of Anne Shirley, of Annes imagniation of everlasting joy in life and its varied challenges. There was as much sunshine as there were shadows in Anne's character.
Admittedly, as Katherine chatted, or rather argued, with Anne, and watched her gray-green eyes sparkle, Katherine wondered why others seemed to live more fully, all the time. As if Anne had got some birthgift from fairies, as her unwavering optimism mixed with a really strong temperament was a wonder to behold. As years passed Anne was moored in Glen St. Mary in idyll with her Gilbert, who was a stalwart pillar of the community as the local doctor. Anne had her writing and several children. After the Redmonds secretarial course world opened up as years and ontinents rolled by.
Katherine was equally at home in Istanbul, or in the vast provinces of the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy. There were many places she had not yet visited, and they all called her, vast gentle lure like an barely heard song. In time many countries all became familiar to her as her own face in the reflection on a mirror. The Amazon jungles, the French countryside, the Scandinavian variety, vast fjords, streams, of Norway and gentle vaves of Mälaren in Stockholm and local architecture, different styles, the strong presence of the monarchy and food, and in Japan – all those vast greenish water-gardens that echo Eden, delicate ink-kanjis, paintings, and local delicasies, opium sellers and houses of vice, or gambling dens, that were there, but one of many unmentioables in polite society, open to men, but not women of certain class.
Then as a sudden star flight from the sky in her way dropped Renee, charming vivid, living and chaotic. Her poems celebrating the female form and varied nature, flowed from her pen, as well as the ironic playfulness that glowed from her like the rays of the sun that touched her honey-colored hair, tied down in its customary violet colored ribbon. Renee showed Katherine the other underground side of Japan, accessible only to those who could afford it or had useful connections, and Renee had both. That trip was unforgettable, even to the bitter end.
Katherine knew full well that she was a sharp and cynical person with a very incisive sarcasm, but it showed an extremely bad taste of Renee, to die just on the anniversary of their first meeting. It might also have been well-planned, as Renee's moods had fluctuated, partly due to her isolation. Walking restlessly to and fro, Katherine thought in a distant and somewhat gloomy way, the world and its wonders are still there even if Renee is not.
So with resolute and driven nod Katherine slowly packed her valise and trunk, and silently tip toed away from that beautiful classic pale house that in the twilight looked quite a dream. Like the happiness Katherine had come to feel inside its walls that had now faded away like a dewdrops on roses in the summer sun.
Le Gare du Nord.
The railway network represented the freedom to go wherever, even in the Florencian sun or the deep forests of Finland, to pick blueberries in the middle of the shadows and twilight. To be on the move was freedom, it was life, no more staring and looming mutely or drowning in yesterdays.
The train shuddered to stop, sudden and shrill wistle, smoke. More passangers came to the compartament, and Katherine ironically raised her eyebrow as she encountered the shiny suit buttons of the stylish businessmen, and the piles of paper they lifted on top of their cases with important movements and started hushed discussion of taxes and import rations of intercontinental world of Capital Business.
The restaurant compartement smelled of expensive cigars, strong aromatic tea and coffee, as well as fish and boiled potatoes. Katherine reluctantly nibbled her food, and preferred to watch the other passengers, fingering the letter in her pocket. A letter that was unopened.
On another end of the compartament there was a slender blond woman who looked depressed, she was wearing modish dress dreadful shade of orange and totally ridiculous hat with its profusion of peacock feathers. By the window sat a man with toffee colored hair and pale features, there was something strange about in his shoulders. He had green attentive, watchful eyes, and an expression in them was as ironic and distant. The unknown green-eyed man, looked up and looked at Katherine straight in the eye, his gaze was pungent, and cynical, as if the man was expecting something?
Calmly, Katherine looked back at him, then with an artfull grace, shrugged and lifted her notebook to the table and sipped a relatively decent red wine, and began to write.
The train jolted forward in its tracks.
Waiters filled coffee cups, and offered brandy, sherry, cognac or vodka. Katherine ordered vodka. It tasted sharp and at the same time soft, and it had the taste of lingonberries in the background, and it was chillingly cold. Katherine felt like she was drinking ice in liquid form.
Suddenly a shaky wavering shadow came in the path of her light. Annoyed and the sharp answer already in her tongue, Katherine glanced up. Opposite her stood that unknown man with green eyes, he held the chair with his other delicate hand, and sat down without asking man took a fine cigar from the gilded case and began smoking, the delicate spicy scent wrapping the table in its gauze. Katherine noticed that she raised her eyebrow again, and was silently annoyed at her lack of facial conrol for it was a hint of her inner surprise.
Silence prolonged far beyond the socially appropriate period.
Then the man spoke softly accented english that had a hint of maritime canadian vovels in it."I have been watching you Mademoiselle for several days now, and I have come to the conclusion that you, like me, are a world citizen, destined to travel around, at home everywhere and nowhere, am I right? Also, usually fine women don't drink vodka, sherry at most, so who exactly are you?"Katherine did not respond to the man's questionnaire. The man sighed, seemed irritated and said, well now I introduce myself: " I'm Dean Priest hailing originally from Blair Water, Prince Edward Island, Canada, but as you can see as I am a cripple and an intellectual, with some means, so the world and its charms are open to me. The last sentence was said in a arfull sarcastic loathing that was truly incisive, and wounding.
Katherine thought to herself that the man Mr. Priest, might be even more cynical than she was, and that was already something. Lightly Katherine ordered a new vodka and grabbed one of Mr. Priest´s cigars and smoked it, the routine to do so, came back very quickly, even though it had been years since the last time. It had been in Marrakech, after a memorable evening full of moonlight and delicate shadows and scent of spices. The tendrils of smoke shadowed Katherines features, most becomingly and then she replied to Mr. Priest in her calm, cold and remote tone, that was her default tone to anyone new and not a member of her small circle:
" Mr. Priest! do you often observe women traveling alone on trains? It's not a polite at all, but somehow I feel like you don't usually care about the regulations or norms of a decent society"and having said that, Katherine resolutely emptied her glass, like an exclamation point. Mr. Priest looked at Katherine for a long time and then he suddenly burst into a sincere, a mocking laugh with a remarkable undertone, as if he were not laughing at his companion, but at himself or the world in general." Oh my dear unknown, Mr. Priest declaimed, you have spirit and a will to match, I haven't been so surprised in years. The last time something like this happened when I rescued a fairy-creature from dripping into the sea at Malvern Rocks."Mr. Priest said with this bitter twist in his mouth and some glimmer of haunting memory in his expressive eyes. "Well say now in hell who you are, otherwise I feel compelled to come up with a nickname for you, and my imagination is no longer as gentle as in years past."
Out of pure imp of mischief Katherine decided to keep quiet and wait for what kind of name Mr. Priest would come up for her. Hour passed ticking and during which time Katherine remained calm and motionless, though she wished to empty the ashtray on top of the man sitting opposite, watching her with an insensitive and extremely arrogant attitude.
Finally Mr. Priest said: " Because you have not named yourself I will do it for you, you are now known to me as Liberia, variant of the Greek myth of Persephone. Katherine listened to Mr. Priest's words with a happy little smile on her pale lips, and thought. "Liberia, the early goddess of wine, and another participant in the celebration of Liberalia, the festival of bacchanals and sacrifice, very apropos."
" Well on that note perhaps we should order more wine, as I am a goddes of wine by your naming," Katherine teased. Mr. Priest nodded and ordered more house red and as well as a few pies and variety of cheeses.
It was already dark around their table, and there were only a few people left in the restaurant compartament. Glowing candlesticks gleaming, and behind the windows, roads and roads swarmed past. Mr. Priest poured himself a cognac, and handed the carafe to Katherine, with a small nod she accepted the glass. The light glowed from the faceted crystal and the liquid in the glass was the same shade as Katherine's eyes. Mr Priest waved his hand with an ironic light dandy gesture that was in stark contrast to his being. Such was the deliberately learned flaneure gesture it might fit the streets of Paris here on the train in the middle of nothing as they were, it landed empty and downright heartbreaking.
With a determined gesture, Katherine tapped her red gloved fingers together silently and said in a pondering softy sarcastic tone: " Monsieur, Priest, I feel like you are fleeing something, perhaps a memory or a disappointment, and that is why you are shielding yourself with extreme sarcasm. I, too, have experienced many disappointments in my life and indeed I have even hated humanity, for a time, but I have never truly lost my faith in humanity. After all, traveling is about discovering new worlds and realities, as well as art and books and music in its own way", Katherine spoke passionately with her cheeks glowing. Mr. Priest, glanced at her lightly, and replied with a caustic tone:" Dear Liberia, right now you sound like a teacher, soon you probably will begin to quote poetry, and if you do, someone other than Tennyson, if I may ask. I really can´t stand Tennyson or Shakespeare, or Irvings tales of Alhambra."
Katherine noticed that they, Mr Priest and her, were both now in a state that sometimes comes after a great quantity of different substances, or shades of sorrow that all the reality around becomes fragile, the flowing life recedes behind a frosty veil, and the surprising encounters are reminiscent of the dignity of life. So Katherine began to utter following verses in a soft voice:
"Whose doctrine is that each one should select
Out of the world a mistress or a friend,
And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend
To cold oblivion – though it is the code
Of modern morals, and the beaten road."
After hearing the verse, Mr Priest grimaced and said:" Of course, it had to be Shelley. On the other hand, when I think more closely about your mystery. Oh, are you perhaps a music teacher, for that poetry was better than the forced classicism or romance that one usually have to listen to in different various social occasions." Katherine made a slight nod of assent and said, "I have been a teacher for many years and sometimes I also perform, sing and play the piano if need be, nowadays I am mostly a world traveler, as you are. So here is a slightly delayed answer to your previous question my name is Katherine Brooke, and I'm originally from Summerside myself, also from Prince Edward Island, but I've left that place many years ago. I guess that you have been on the Island quite recently as there is a tang of the island speech pattern on your tongue, that will be smoothed away soon." Katherine quickly watched the effect her words had on the man. A thin vibration shrugged his narrow shoulders, and his slender fingers tapped the cigar box compulsively. After a little silence, Mr. Priest looked up, and said lightly but emphatically.
" Well, as it turned out that once we are residents of the same island, but we don't know each other, let's be brutally honest for once in our lives and tell each other the current reason for our trip. I can start, but first I need a drink."
Mr Priest called the waiter and ordered from him, strawberries, champagne and whiskey, for both. The light from the candle was reflected in the crystalline glass, and Mr Priest's face was in the shade and his voice was faint as he started his tale and it was a sad one.
Full of wasted years, waiting, traveling and searching, and then a chance at happiness, one golden and unforgettable summer, but he should have known that youth always belongs to youth. Mr. Priest stopped bitterly and said even more softer tone, " and on the other hand maybe it is good that she is not now my wife and queen. After all, she is a writer, a really talented one, the stories and poems just came to her and nothing or anyone existed for her in those times, except a distant call from the muse, the "Flash" as she named it. I hated what she wrote, and the fact that she always had a haven in her imagination where no one could follow. Sometimes I was beastly to her, in my greed to own her, as she was created to live and to love in freedom, I know that know, even if she ended to choose that gromless painter to her spouse. What she looked like, you ask silently, like women, full of that nameless competition towards everyone of your sex. She was no Victorian ideal, my star. She was dark haired, tall and slim with purple-grey eyes, with a tilt dark sooty lashes, and ivory skin, and delicate pointed ears – mark of a fairy in her. She was a delicate girly creature with the radiant glory of a mountain stream in her essence, and thoughts of their ugliness or beauty tortured her until she got everything written out. I guided her over the years, trying to shape and mold but she always stayed out of my reach like a bright shining star. She was a star to me, and now my star has fallen, and I travel everywhere she is not."
Katherine looked at the long-running candles on the table and said quietly.
"Because you are a man of the world you know that there are many paths in life and not all of them follow socially acceptable routes. Why am I here now, on my way through the deep forests of Europe, on a night train, and not caring for my children or my husband or saving money for old age. I have never had a man, nor children, nor will I, except one and she is the child of my heart, we have chosen each other, she is now in St. Petersburg, has been for years.
Once I met a woman in Japan years ago. She is now dead, and buried and she left me a letter, I haven't opened it." With a light motion, Katherine brought the letter to the table. Therein it rested on a soft cotton tablecloth, in the middle of an ashtray, and miscellaneous glasses. The light glowed in the bloodred seal varnish.
"So love has made us both look for an oblivion to travel"Mr Priest stated, and with a quick motion pulled the envelope open, there were two sheets.
Katherines face was was pale as she glanced at both and after reading them, emptied
the whiskey glass in front of her and laughed a litte tinkling scornful sound. "Really typical and extremely melodramatic, but extremely cunning. One of my friends is going to be furious."
"What is that other paper", Mr. Priest asked with soft cat-like curiosity, for the letter seemed to be written in 18th century French. Oh that, Katherine said carelessly"it is a poem, as she who died was a well-known poet in certain circles of Paris and with a delicate wave of her fingers pushed the poem across the table and remarked,
"you can as well read it if you want, there are no secrets in it, just the usual mystical and esoteric style of her and the ryhme patter is old-fashioned on purpose."
Katherine noticed how Mr. Priest read the short poem greedily, then remarked lightly. "Just like you said, mystical and esoteric but also nihilistic, pretty grim and gothic and constantly with the different flowers, and sunrises and sunsets."
"Who she was, really? the woman you loved and who gifted that letter, then Mr. Priest asked, "I bared my soul to you and you also have been very generous of your reasons, but I have not got very clear image of her from your words, can you, will you tell me more, please?"
So sighing softly, Katherine began" Well, we met in Japan, you know, those vast water gardens that are crossed by light but solid wooden bridges. One day I had dedided to see the waterlilies. I looked into the water as there was large purple water lilies, they floated in front of me. Suddenly it started to rain and thousands of drops broke the surface of the water. I was just leaving when a graceful big black umbrella stretched out over my head and a soft voice said, "Do not leave, let us look at the water lilies in peace. Only the little souls are afraid of the little rain." It was her. Except that the monsoon rain started and we had to stand in heavy rain for several hours. As for her looks, well how you can describe a sunlight that flickers in the leaves of a slender birch? But I do try. She was slim and always wore a black form fitting suit, with a cream white dress-shirt, and purple details like a handkerchief, a ribbon and top hat. Her hair was thick curly and honey and golden in color, her face was slender and her eyes large and brown, and she didn't fit in with current beauty ideals either. She was too angular in attitude, and challenged everything the norms of society and all the standards of it - on purpose, and her poetry, well." Katherine noticed a semi-sympathetic smile on the man's face, as if reluctant.
Then the pale dawn of the morning glowed in the pale purple clouds and behind the window the dark forests had turned into small farms, the steel railway continued to meander and straight ahead.
Breakfast started.
In the same table as yesterday sat Mr. Priest and he gracefully nodded to Katherine, as she arranged flowing skirts of her purple dress under the table and took her seat.
There was a peaceful silence, it was broken by the rustling of a magazine and the squeaking of other diners 'dishes.
Katherine looked up from her tea and marmaladetoast and faced Mr. Priests gaze, which was even gentler, certainly still incisively sarcastic, but no longer as sharp as yesterday before their mutual confessions, and Katherine gathered her wandering thoughts and said: " Monsieur thank you for yesterday's company, but now I have to get back to my own department, as I have to get off the train, at the next station. The next station is Prague, so you go there then, Mr. Priest said musingly. " Well here's my card if at some point we meet again, Good luck, safe further travel and more adventures for you Mademoiselle Liberia."Katherine noticed that she was smiling unwittingly at her strange travelling companion, and with a light nod put the offered card in her pocket. One last glance at the table, and there Mr. Priest sat immersed in a novel with greenish-golden cover.
Soon Katherine stood alone at Prague's railway station and observed as the train contiued in its journey. With a light shrug of her shoulders Katherine began to walk around and making observations of her surroundings, The Vltava glittered and everywhere there was colorful houses and buildings, pale sun shone and it seemed like the world itself looked a shade brighter.
The people around did their usual daily chores and the market was in full swing, early fruit was sold as well as beautiful embroidered scarves. Katherine stopped in front of a stall and bought a really beautiful scarf with incredibly beautiful embroidery and handmade lace from the Bohemian region. With flexible steps, Katherine walked forward, dodging the crowds until she came in front of the Stavovské Divadlo Theater. In this beautiful neoclassical building done shades with pale green and cream and gold ornaments in the decorations in the ionian pillars, of the façade. In here had been the premiere of Mozart's last opera and commissioned work Clemenza di Tito in 1791, at the coronation of King Leopold II.
The bright rippling twilight of early spring, glimmered as Katherine looked at the bluish sky and swore to herself: " There will probably be no new love to me, but I am going to enjoy life - exactly as she would like me to,"and with the lightest steps and straight back Katherine hummed Sestos's aria in half voice to herself and stepped to the glimmering sunset that caressed the streets of Prague in that one spring in Edwardian Era.