Sunday, 17 April 2016

Carlos (the tortoise and the non-dandelion)

T and n-d

When you descend from the train, wait on the platform and watch it pull out of the station on its journey deeper into the valley; you are going to cross the tracks to the other side.

It will be warm; you won’t need a jacket.

There is a small footpath that leads through the bamboo that grows here. This path was made by the many passengers have climbed up to their homes.

You are not going that far.

His house is on the edge of the village; it is not expensive for him to live here, as the house is damp and dark.

Leave the path by the stream and cross it, then go down into the fold of the hill. The door will be open.

Carlos will be upstairs in the kitchen.

He will be making tea, or he will be in bed sleeping.

He slept a lot before you came, but most days now he is excited to see you.

You have brought him a feeling of hope, I think.

Or maybe adventure.

He is a refuge you know; his family was killed by the militia. He can never go back.

This is not his land.

It is not yours either.

He may ask to come with you when you leave here.

I expect you to refuse, but promise to return.

You will not.

Well......once many years later.

I will see you.

I will talk to you.

You will have forgotten my face.

I will tell you that Carlos is no longer here, that i don't know where he is.

We will wonder what it would be like to sleep with each other.

But we won’t say anything, and we will say goodbye.


And that will be it.

ab/58

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