Istanbul Was a Fairy Tale by Mario Levi

Author:Mario Levi [Levi, Mario]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781564787125
Publisher: Dalkey Archive Press
Published: 1999-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

At present I happen to be somewhere quite removed from those representations, where the story has called me. The new places I was supposed to see and explore greatly contributed to my understanding of the places from which I had moved away. One could have an overall view of disparate things and juxtapose them in new and unexpected combinations. There were instances which justified Juliet’s behavior. There had been times when I thought I had had an insight into Berti’s motive for undertaking those long walks, times when I felt lonely and remorseful, times I couldn’t possibly talk about to anyone. Those were the times when I deemed myself justified in my actions and wished that this self-assurance be embedded in me. That was my time. New places had caused me to take stock of certain things which I had failed to see before. Berti and Juliet happened to be cast in that truth they desired to represent to me in that little play they enacted, a truth expressed through mimicry. I had shared different secrets with them at different times. These secrets were pregnant with surprising, enigmatic stories and heroes. In other words, the secrets shared were from a different time, a fact they knew all too well. What they did not know, and preferred not to learn, were the details and the extent to which they unmasked them by reflecting their images in the mirror. They had reserved a place for me in their life as a man who knew how to lend an ear to them and keep their secrets. The strange thing was that the other family members had also adopted the same attitude. Under the circumstances, I had to learn how to play that role as best I could with the touch of a hero destined to narrate the story of certain people, that long story, which reminded me now and then of other fictions. Berti’s invitation to his place after all that had happened carried a special meaning. We had to protect what we had experienced from sinking into oblivion, what had truly been lived. Under the circumstances Juliet’s womanliness had occupied a place of its own, despite certain reservations. The truths were the truths that we whispered into each other’s ears in a different tone and impressed upon each other accordingly. She had grasped the meaning of this expectation as much as I had. Her contours that evening reminded one of a woman who was immersed in the process of forgetting. They fitted her identity as an ex-player quite well. “All right, I’ll come,” I said, “But, we must buy some flowers somewhere; I know that Juliet loves flowers.” “Indeed! There is in fact a flower shop nearby,” he observed. The flower shop happened to be right there, aiding us with our story. I had bought a bouquet of gillyflowers disregarding all the likely blunders arising from this choice. It was my intention to return to that house with the scents I was once fond of.

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