I'm translating next chapters to English, and till then there is a fic that is somehow related to "Camel" series. But really it's a stand-alone, though I think it will make a bit more sense if you read the "Camel" itself, if it will make sense at all. I'm honestly not sure about this fic. People say different things...
Already translated parts of "Camel" are here.
The melody that should accompany this fic is here.
Oh, and Marco - Narcissus - mentioned here is Van Basten, it's a reference to my friend's series.
Time: let's say it's winter of 2007, sometime around the end of January
Disclamer: I honestly hope it's not true
Summary: hallucination about hallucination - I think it sums it all up perfectly. Some say it's madness.
He is standing at the window, looking at the wet tree branches. It rains today. Like yesterday. Like two days before.
He doesn’t turn at the sound of footsteps and doesn’t flinch at the touch. Trees are rocking softly outside.
- I’ve had a dream.
He rarely speaks about his dreams. He understood long ago that this topic upsets those who are close to him and he doesn’t want to see these sad smiles on the faces of people he holds dear. But to him it is possible to tell anything. He will hear everything out, and he won’t be smiling so sadly like others do.
- I’ve dreamed about
He falls silent for a second, shaking his head. He is forgetting so many things these days…
- I don’t remember over what. But we had a fight, and I’ve dreamed that you…
His voice catches. So silly – it’s nothing more than just another dream.
- I’ve dreamed that you don’t love me.
Jürgen embraces him very carefully, like he always does. Jürgen never makes harsh movements and never raises his voice. And Jürgen is always smiling.
- Some weird dreams you have.
- It’s not true, - there is a question in his voice though he doesn’t know why. He knows that Jürgen loves him, how can he doubt that?
Jürgen’s lips touch his temple gently.
- Don’t speak nonsense.
She lowers her head even more, and her fingers are still running over the red cloth.
- For God, what happened, - asks he, and the memory supplies the name suddenly and he adds, - Marijana?
She smiles and stands up, smoothing the hem of her evening dress for the last time.
- Everything is fine, Lothar. Are you tired?
- Then let’s go dance again.
Two steps in the direction of the dancefloor, and he holds her closer, obeying the rhythm of a slow waltz. Interesting that he’s never seen this dress before. Looks good – red velvet trimmed with gold.
Strong hands are lifting him from the carpet. Golden arabesques are running over the scarlet background.
- You shouldn’t have tried to stand up, - there is a gentle admonishing in Jürgen’s voice.
But no, he had to stand up, he had to find Jürgen as soon as possible, and he suddenly remembers why.
- I don’t remember the first time I told you that I love you.
Jürgen laughs, touching his brow with his hand.
- Is it so important?
- I don’t remember how it happened.
- It doesn’t matter, Lothar. All that matters is that you are telling me this every day.
He shakes his head stubbornly.
- No, I have to remember it, it is so important, so very important, I shouldn’t have forgotten about it, - and looks around helplessly, as if hoping that something in the room will remind him, will give some hint… - I couldn’t have forgotten about it…
Jürgen smiles. Jürgen always understands everything, even when he himself can’t understand anything at all.
- Do you want me to tell you how it happened?
He hides his face on his beloved’s shoulder, without answering – because Jürgen always understands everything without words.
- It was in Florence, an evening before the match. We were in your room, you were sitting on the bed and I was standing at the window.
The rain is drumming on the windowpane, drops are falling on the carpet, and the air smells of winter and cold.
- Close it, - he is shaking, as if from the chill.
- It’s hard to breathe here.
- Do you want to catch a cold?
Jürgen laughs, looking at him.
- You’re boring, Lothar.
Looking at the window he can see lilies blossoming on the banks of Arno.
This aroma makes his head spin. Big baskets or pink lilies are everywhere in the hall. Good that there are none of them in her bouquet. He doesn’t like lilies. But arguing about the flowers – it’s hard to imagine something sillier. It’s better to let women have their way with such things, otherwise there will be a scandal… Did she choose flowers to match her dress or the dress to match the flowers?
It’s stuffy here. Outside there is a hot sunny summer day, the windows are opened and light breeze makes the curtains sway slowly.
- You’d better lie down, Lothar, - she looks at him with this unexplainable sadness.
- I am fine, - and adds again, - Marijana.
Strange, why does she allow him to call her by this name? He knows for sure that her name is not Marijana, it’s another woman, the one in white dress who was with him on Broadway when Jürgen… Jürgen…
In the soft glow of a night-light Jürgen’s face looks so young…
- You’ve called me in your sleep.
He called? No, he just remembered that it should be done right now.
- I have to call Marco.
Jürgen is looking at him, as if waiting for him to continue. Of course, there are so many people with this name, he just needs to say the last name, but it’s just that he can’t remember it, instead he is thinking about the flowers. But Jürgen will understand, he always understands everything by himself…
Jürgen lowers his head for a second.
- Marco died last winter, Lothar. Don’t you remember?
No, he doesn’t remember. And doesn’t feel anything, though he probably should be upset – Marco died. But he remembers only that he has to call this man and order him to come to Salzburg.
There is a rustle from outside – yard-keepers are sweeping the fallen leaves from the streets. Useless attempts – new pieces of gold are landing on recently cleaned pavements. It’s impossible to argue with nature. Autumn reigns in Salzburg.
- You’ll catch cold, Lothar.
He steps away from the window. Women are always worrying about every little thing, better not to argue.
- Jürgen told me…
- Jürgen? – There is a surprise written on her face.
- We've talked yesterday. He said…
- Lothar, Jürgen is in America now.
He looks at her, uncomprehending. What does America have to do with it? Jürgen woke him up in the middle of the night, because he’s had a nightmare…
- You haven’t seen each other since World Cup has ended. Do you remember?
Sure, he remembers. World Cup, Italy, San Siro filled with people, and instead of blue-black banners the flags of two countries are flying over the tribunes – blue-white-red colors of Yugoslavia and black-red-golden, the same as stripes on their jerseys. One of the sectors looks like milk was spilled there – white color with little islands of green – the part where German fans are sitting, and there are black-red-golden flags too. And Jürgen and Rudi went to finish their chess match, and he was standing outside the door, and for some reason it was so hard to breathe, and Jürgen’s eyes are like ice, and Franz was yelling at Jürgen in the locker room, and Jürgen Kohler called Klaus a frog…
- It never happened, Lothar.
Jürgen is caressing his hair.
- It never happened. It was a dream, you’ve told me about it a week ago, do you remember?
No, no, he doesn’t remember. He is forgetting so much these days… But he remembers Italy, and how they two were sitting in the square in front of the Dome. He remembers it, it happened in reality, didn’t it?
- We never were in Italy together, Lothar. We were always planning, but never could find time. But we will go there this spring, we’ll go there for sure, if only you want.
He nods, because Jürgen looks worried and he doesn’t want to upset his beloved. Why does Jürgen look so worried?
- We’ll go to Italy, Lothar, I promise.
But he remembers, he remembers so well the city that seems to be ancient and modern at the same time, and above the town soars the golden statue of Madonna which crowns the spire of the Dome… This memory is so bright, so clear, it can’t be a dream, and Jürgen is telling him that it never happened…
She touches his hand tenderly.
- Tell me, did I ever go to Italy?
It seems that she is not even surprised by the question.
- You’ve made a trip last year, you were in Rome, Napoli and Torino and you enjoyed it very much, you were talking about it for the whole week afterwards and said that you’ll try for sure go there again. Don’t you remember?
He makes a gesture, waving her question away.
- I’ve had a dream…
Jürgen’s whisper accompanies him into the darkness.
- You will tell me about it when you wake up, Lothar…