A Collection of Tales by Alice Lenkiewicz
(For Robert and Mouse)
The Red Bride
The red bride sat in front of the mirror. She gazed at her own pale skin; pale skin she knew would no longer be caressed and touched. She pictured her life infinitely perched there in front of the mirror. She would be wearing that red dress until she grew older; until her skin was like tissue. It was after all what was expected of her. Past lovers resented her more, accusing her of becoming embittered and negative. Only she knew the truth.
The truth was that she was now free. Free to sense the rough silk of her dress on her skin, free to imagine the perfect hand on her hand. Looking at her reflection she could no longer see her husband. She could no longer see past lovers. All she could see was a large green field where the bride in the red dress was free to run and run and run, quietly along the twisting lakes, and through the glades that lead to glassy ponds.
She seems to glide through these areas and you can see her red dress flitting in-between the trees. Sometimes she bumps into other brides and they meet up under the burning sun that turns their white dresses blood red. It changes the trees into golden lamps and when it reaches its hottest point they all sail the river. They sail the river as though they were red hot ghosts burning up; burning perpetually with desire.
The sun burns the water to a deep violet as though it were some poisonous treacle. When at last it becomes too hot, even the poisonous treacle seems desirable and one by one they fall underneath the water. It feels cool and it is at this moment they realise that they are at last experiencing something new. Only one woman does not fall. All she can see is the hot violet treacle. "Jump in, jump in," the brides call out, "it's so cool and wonderful."
Still she does not jump. Instead she sails towards the sun until she becomes consumed inside its ruby red mouth. Shimmering like a water-colour the tones on the surface are smeared in diluted columns like tiny sunsets.
She's standing near the old tram station. The sky is vivid violet tonight and it makes her dress seem saturated as if she might become absorbed in that intense visual heat. She kneels down and runs her hand through the marbled water. Each colour floats gracefully into the other. The blue lights melt with the reds and the yellows with the blues. When her hand emerges it is covered in a veil of imaginary landscapes creating a glove suited only for a woman inside an abstract painting. She dare not wipe the colours over her scarlet dress.
I could often see her standing near to the water. She would wait until the lights in the near distance had slowly faded as though an artist tipped each colour out one by one slowly with black paint until only the essential colour remained. In this case it was a subdued green light, muted by the others surrounding it. This was the light that always remained in the darkness on Simian's wooden boat winking softly like a mermaid's sleepy eye.
The other brides swam until the evening. The water changed from a thick hot liquid to warm and then to cool. The moon hung like a transparent tear. The rest of the brides swam towards the moon, into its shadow where the unborn were waiting to enter the unknown and where the dead were resting and waiting for their turn to be reborn.
The Princess in the Pond
Mother said, "Oh look at the moon. Isn't it wonderful?" We both looked up at its silver surface with the clear diamond stars glinting in the inky coal sky. Mother's face was lit up by the lights from above. I spoke to her but she didn't hear me as she was so fascinated by the moon!
"Wouldn't it be nice if we could all live there," she sighed amongst a few words. "I'd love to be young again. I mean I love being this age but it would be nice to be appreciated for one's youth again."
"I suppose it is all very strange isn't it?" I replied, "to think I'll be sitting here, older one day also."
We felt quite tired. Eventually mother did go to sleep. I looked over the balcony. The trees were gently rustling in the breeze and for a few seconds all the happiness that I could ever wish for seized my soul and ran through me like a mysterious potion." I can be anyone in the world that I want to be," I thought. Such things came to my mind such as plants with female faces or cats that can change into humans, or butterflies with human bodies. As I was thinking of these things I looked down below the balcony at the pond. Underneath the water lay a princess with golden hair spread out like the rays of a sun. I thought she was dead but she was smiling. I noticed she was wearing a beautiful ring, all sparkle and green.
Years later after this incident Mouse told me that when she had divorced she had thrown her wedding ring into the pond.
"This is to freedom!"
"No one will ever trap us again," I thought.
Familiar Places
Red clouds and the sun beam through holes in the hedge like tiny laughs. Smoke fills the carriage. A woman stands with her child. What has happened to the laughter I wonder? The golden sun spreads the sky and as dusk falls the colour changes to the dusky bitter colour of blood oranges.
I look around this room. Gold and salmon pink with light green were my choice of colours for this fireside once. The enamel vase sits above in matching sequence. It reminds me of myself once; (an hour glass sprouting pink carnations). Just the vase remains now.
The town was busy today. The sunken church seemed to cry for help out of the ground. Each time I return it seems to have withered a little more.
A book on the magic of art fell into my hands today. The geometric patterns of ancient masterpieces; the analytical detail of snowflakes. All of these shapes are familiar to me and float past my face like pieces of shredded paper.
The skull, the horn, the paper horse’s head sit in their usual place. All these things that once meant so much. The water was so fresh today; clear and wild as when I once had visions of melting into its eccentric folds. Houses stood gloomily. Places where I once walked and talked to those I knew are now forgotten and far away. The Christmas trees had somehow lost their energy this year; not so bold or prominent; not so proud. It was as if they had drawn their last breath.
The fire is warm. I'm all alone and the fight goes on. The people here have grown older. I'm glad I no longer live here. Instead I hide away in my den that seems to exist in the trees today, the clouds tomorrow where time does not exist, only the soft gentle breeze or as I once heard, "As soft as a witches caress."
Love
The vine tree and the ruby jewel. The vine crawls up the tree into the sky and over a ladder up towards the moon. There it finds the ruby jewel where inside there lives a woman who happened to know a strange king who could fly through the sky in a sailing ship, once a long time ago.
There she sings and combs her hair like a mermaid in a deep blue ocean. She dances along the clouds. You can see her toes and the rain is really just her tears. She sighs underneath the stars. She laughs like some old witch. When her rain pours down, it turns into tears that touch the ocean below joining the waves and foam.
All the birds became people today. They grew arms and legs but their heads remained the same. How odd it was to see that man with the head of a crow sitting on the bench. How odd it was to see that woman put her hand through his soft black feathers. She wished he could speak. But all she saw was a tear in his eye for leaving behind the mermaid in the sky. So off he flew back home. He missed her you see. But now this woman on earth is left alone. At times she hears a tinkling laugh in the distance far away. She talks to the fish in the sea. She talks to the seaweed and she talks to the sun in hope that the man will hear her once again.
It was one strange morning that he did hear her. He flew down and landed on top of a tree trunk. It was there that he sang so sweetly and strong. But this time he was completely a crow. The woman looked up at him and said, "I remember you," and he said, "I remember you too." As she walked towards him he put his hand against her shoulder. Of course it was only a black wing but to her it was a hand. She kissed his black feathers. As they flew towards the moon they heard the mermaid singing day and night. So jealous was she that the crow had returned to his old love!
And so the earth woman danced across the clouds so that the rain fell madly below. It was so painful on her feet, like the lost mermaid; the one who wanted to become mortal.
She still sighs and cries and the sky sometimes becomes different colours according to her moods. The rain turns into large jewels and chimes over the surface of the clouds like tiny waves. The woman is lonely there. She only talks to the mermaid in the sky these days.
But the mermaid is more interested in combing her hair and the woman wants to return home to sit on a park bench and sip a cup of tea. So one day she decides to leave and she floats through the sky landing on the stars. At one stage she even bumped into a huge mysterious sailing ship that contained an old crazy man. He had this weird white curly beard filled with diamonds, and he was shouting something but she couldn't quite hear what it was, something like "I love you!" Wailing at the top of his voice. It echoed throughout the universe.
Landing in the ocean she was swallowed by a fish. She lived there for a few years. She met many interesting people; far more interesting than the ones back at the library! She knew she must reach home. She soon escaped from the fish and swam with all her might to the land of the sunflowers; to the land of the jewels and the crows.
She swam until she reached a dark forest, totally alone with only the moon as her friend and a beetle at her foot; a very strange beetle that shone like oil on water and then walked all over her knee. The woman grabbed it and pressed it to her heart. For a moment she thought she heard a little heart beat inside that strange body. Instead it whispered in her ear and said, "Come with me." The woman followed him far away towards the desert and I mean followed each and every tiny step. This went on for years!
There in the desert she spent the rest of her days. Some people say they see her shadow in the sun; a dark red shadow where above there flies a crow, a beautiful shiny black crow.
China Flowers
I would like one of those candelabrums dripping with trinkets and so worn out as though they have stood for years inside uninhabited mansions. How dark that room would be, all except for the burning candles and the shadows glowing across the wall.
I'm back in the market once again. My head feels heavy, so heavy like faded velvet. Suddenly a delicate niche resonates gold and beads like glass pebbles. Amongst them lay china flowers made into brooches to decorate the fronts of chiffon dresses.
I walk slowly to the top of the stairs noticing the chandeliers hang from a giant abundance of pears and grapes. I walk inside the room. It's dark. I can hear the water in the fountains flow outside followed by a feint musical chime. (Reminds me of that time as a young girl in Cornwall). Strange house I remember. The rain pelts against the window. I feel the china flower. Suddenly it breaks. My finger bleeds.
All about me feels cold.
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Neon Highway Poetry/Art Zine (Editor: Alice Lenkiewicz)
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