Jan Urban | Author
UNDER THE VEIL OF NIGHT
“Nadja.”
I climbed the stairs, trying to catch a hint of mysterious singing. But the house was silent as death. I still don’t know how I found the courage to let my steps settle into that hush.
The door was locked.
“Nadja!”
She gave no answer. My gaze had already begun to slip down the stairs when a rusty key turned in the lock. Her eyes were ringed with shadow. Her face was pale.
I lay down on the bed.
“Today I caught my fingers in the door. It hurts.”
I blew on her fingers as slender streams of tears slid down her cheeks. She had looked so worn, for so long. And now this too...
“You know... I broke a glass.”
She always did that when she was in pain.
“But I picked up the shards and threw them away. All of them. I didn’t want you to know.”
We lay on the bed. The house held its silence.
“I can’t sing. It hurts…”
“And in the evening?”
The window looked out onto the garden. Something dark ran across the bed, purring.
“Kitty, kitty!” she called softly. She loved that cat because it never forgot her.
“Psssss.”
Such things pierced my heart. She could lull anyone to sleep.
Dust shimmered in the air like magic. I sneezed. I saw the cat off with my eyes.
“Nadja?”
“Hm.”
“Is your handkerchief white?”
“No.”
She pulled something out from under the bed. “Look.”
A broken mirror warped our faces. She laughed. Her hands were bluish.
A gust of night spilled through the window. I knew every tongue of flame in the fireplace, and the shadows they cast on the walls. She played with my hair.
...under the veil of night you sleep, full of dreams...
I loved that lullaby. Tonight, it sounded beautiful again.
...tomorrow comes a messenger from a thousand seas...
She would always stroke me, sometimes kiss me. Gentle as a mother. We used to fall asleep on the same bed.
The trembling curtains darkened. And through the air floated: “Psshhhh…”
A whisper from the smoldering fire woke me.
She was gone.
“Nadja?”
I stood on the stairs, watching her curled on the floor. In her hands she clutched a handkerchief. She noticed me.
“I won’t sing now...”
She took a sip of water. From a glass I took from her hand. Her head sank onto my chest.
All through the night, heavy breathing echoed. At least Nadja was asleep.
The time when I used to blow on her fingers was long gone. But I didn’t dare tell her to shut them in the door again. She would have done it.
“I cleaned the room. The dust was swirling.”
“Uhm. It’s beautiful outside.”
We ate cherries and spat the pits out the window into the garden.
“In a few years there’ll be hundreds of cherry trees,” she said. She let the sun brush her face. “And then... what will we do?”
I shrugged.
A cup of tea sat on the table.
She had to reach for her handkerchief—a terrible cough seized her. Limp, she looked into my eyes.
“Hm?”
The cup flew through the air, scattering drops of tea. A few landed on my cheek.
“Sorry... I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, stroking me, pulling me close. She drew a shard from my cheek.
The cat outside the window flinched.
A raven of silence screamed through the house.
Nadja stood on the ledge, arms outstretched. She blended with the wall.
“Oooooo...”
“Will you stop?”
She giggled. Then jumped straight onto the bed, nearly knocking me off.
“Nadja!”
Her panties were pulled down. She snapped her fingers playfully, in rhythm with the soft breeze.
tap... tap-tap... tap... tap...
She melted into freedom.
Evening. She played with my hair.
...under the veil... of night...
She brushed her lips against my wounded cheek.
...you sleep... full of dreams...
The walls leaned into their own shadows, and a fiery seal leapt across the brass vase.
Nadja could read my thoughts. She brought me water. I drank from her palms. She was growing ever more fragile.
Her lullaby closed my eyes. One... then the other...
Psssss...
“Nadja?”
Gone.
Something clattered down the stairs. I was lying in half-sleep. It seemed I heard a quiet sob. A mad smile flickered across my face.
...under the veil... of night...
She kissed me softly, that fragile soul. Pinched my cheek.
I heard a cough. I pictured Nadja, curled on the floor.
It felt strangely pleasant. From time to time came the clink of glass.
Something woke me— I found myself holding a handkerchief.
...under the veil... of night...
In a fit of coughing, the white cloth bloomed with red. I sensed Nadja had fallen down the stairs.
A faint smile plays at my lips. Bloody phlegm crumbles between my fingers, the same kind Nadja used to hide. I thought I heard her apologizing.
...I didn’t mean to...
Heat danced through my chest.
“Nadja! Bring me more of that water.”
I drink from her palms. She crushed shards inside them.
...under the veil... of night...
“Nadja, I didn’t mean to, but...”
“Psssss.”
She played with my hair. Gently stroked my forehead. She looked like a flower.
“Nadja, look what I hold in my hand. I’m sorry.”
“Psssss...”
Sleep.
Sleep, and never turn back for you know how treacherous unrest can be. Your warm breath stayed with me, and I hold it now between my fingers. Your eyes had merged with mine, and so I see the sky.
Be silent, and hide your bare face, for you know the power it once held. I was your slave. I became a man. I abandoned solitude, and now I ask its forgiveness.
You were mine. I wept against your chest. I kissed your forehead. Only I gathered your tears and turned them into joy.
Mine.
Again, you are gone. But now I know where you are. I no longer hear your steps, yet I know you walk through the meadow. Your bare feet brush the face of the earth. I see you running, laughter in your arms. You gather light in your palms. There is a birthmark on your neck.
Long ago a fire blazed in us, and a bitter wind tried to snuff it out. But it didn’t know that blind blowing only stokes the flame. And so now, it woos you with a gentle breeze, asking you to forgive it.
Forgive it.
This place has become the sorrow of the Earth. I will be the one to remain. When the rain comes, I will let it drench me with its words. When thunder strikes, I will kneel and lower my head before you.
But you—do not rise. Sleep sweetly, as you always did.
I do not blame you for leaving; death belongs to everyone. Only these cherry trees remain, swaying in the breath of the wind. Breathe strength into their veins. Let them bloom, so that you may inhale the scent of our love. Let them spread wide and shield you from the scorch of the sun. Let them bear fruit, so that nature may take them away again.
I laid you in the earth with my own hands. Sleep now, here in this orchard of cherries. Forget so that only memory remains. And then remember, how you could never forget.
Nadja, tell me... may I love you forever?
You do not answer. It is only me, my gaze pressed into a wooden cross, my legs numbed by time.
Mine.
Breathe the scent of the soil, and I will be silent. I admit it, I will miss you. If we were together, I would cover your knees with a warm blanket. But tenderness has passed, and now I weep into the dusk.
And my tears do not move, for time flows unbearably slow.
You left your face in the house: the mirror has hardened. The walls remember your voice. The windows still recall your gaze. The pictures have faded. The candles no longer shine. I gathered the shards.
Sleep has humbled me.
So sleep. Dream. Drift like a cobweb in the wind.
And when fallen leaves cover you, do not believe you are only dust.