Dreams of My Russian Summers by Andreï Makine

Author:Andreï Makine [Makine, Andreï]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781611450545
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A brick-built castle, faced with cornerstones,

With lofty windows, stained in crimson tones,

Stands in a garden where a river fleet

Flows between flowers and swirls about its feet.

A lady at her casement waits the while,

Fair with dark eyes, in robe of ancient style,

I saw her in another life, it seems,

And now remembrance of her haunts my dreams!

We said nothing else to one another during that unusual night. Before going to sleep I thought about the man in my grandmother’s country a century and a half earlier, who had had the courage to tell of his “madness” — that moment in a dream more real than any commonsense reality.

The following morning I woke up late. In the next room order had returned… . The wind had changed direction and brought the warm breeze from the Caspian. Yesterday’s cold weather seemed very remote.

Around midday, without prior agreement, we went out into the steppe. We walked in silence, side by side, skirting round the thickets of the Stalinka. Then we crossed the narrow rails overgrown with wild plants. From afar the Kukushka emitted its whistling call. We saw the little train appear, looking as if it were traveling between tufts of flowers. It drew near, crossed our path, and melted in the heat haze. Charlotte followed it with her eyes, then murmured softly, as she started walking again, “In my childhood I had occasion to take a train that was a bit like a cousin to our Kukushka. This one carried passengers, and with its little carriages it wound its way slowly through Provence. We used to go and stay with an aunt who lived in …I can no longer remember the name of the town. What I do remember is the sun flooding the hillsides; the loud, dry chirruping of the cicadas when we stopped in sleepy little stations. And on those hills, as far as the eye could see, stretched fields of lavender… . Yes, the sun, the cicadas, and the intense blue; and the scent that came in through the open windows on the breeze …”

I walked beside her in silence. I sensed that “Kukushka” would henceforth be the first word in our new language. The new language that would say the unsayable.

Two days later I left Saranza. For the first time in my life the silence of the last moments before the train pulled out did not become embarrassing. Through the window I gazed at Charlotte on the plat-form, amid people gesticulating like deaf-mutes, for fear of not be-ing understood by those departing. Charlotte was silent. Catching my eye, she smiled softly. We had no need of words.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.