Dracula, Dorliss, Zburatorul sau despre dragoste mitica
Nopti de nesomn. Cearceafuri care par ca ard fiecare particica a trupului. Ore de dor. Ore de vis. Ore de cosmar. Zi dupa zi. Foame de dragoste. Privire pierduta, dusa departe, spre niciunde.
As vrea… Nu stiu nici eu ce vreau…
Si plange. Iar. Ca si ieri, ca si in atatea alte dimineti incercanate.
Dracula, Doris, airman or mythical love
Sleepless nights. Sheets that seem to burn every part of the body. Hours missing. Hours of dreams. Hours of nightmares. Day after day. Hungry for love. Looking lost, taken away to nowhere.
I wish … I do not know what I …
And cry. And like yesterday, like so many other mornings with rings under the eyes.
Ai febra, spune mama.
In coltul ei, bunica tace. Se simte, cumva, vinovata. In fiecare seara ii spune cate o poveste, ca in copilarie. Desi ea nu mai este un copil. Poate ca simte cum candoarea anilor cu julituri in genunchi se risipeste si vrea cu tot dinadinsul sa o intarzie. Poate… In urma cu 3 seri i-a spus legenda Zburatorului. Bunica stie multe.
In alte parti el se numeste Dorliss.
Dar e la fel ca Zburatorul?
Intr-un fel. Chinuieste fetele in somn, dandu-le dor de dragoste.
Dar e frumos?
Mult prea frumos, spune batrana oftand.
Bunica a trait multe.
Si Dracula chinuieste fetele?
Si Dracula e barbat.
Do you have a fever, says my mother.
The grandmother is quietly sitting in her corner. She feels somehow guilty. Every evening she tells a story, just as she used to since childhood. Although she is no longer a child, the grandmother continues to say the stories. Perhaps she feels that the candor years with bruises in the knees are coming and wants by all means to delay them. Maybe… three nights ago, she told her the Dorlinss` Legend. Grandma knows a lot.
Elsewhere he is called Dorliss.
-But is he just like a racer?
-Somehow. He sleep torments the girls, making them miss love.
-Is he beautiful?
-Too beautiful, says the old grandma with a sigh.
Grandmother lived many things.
-Does Dracula do bad things to girls?
-Well, Dracula is also a man.
Bunica are un simt foarte special al umorului.
Si asa a inceput. Zburatorul, Dorliss, Dracula. Un vartej de ganduri, intrebari si arsura din piept.
Diminetile alearga afara. Se opreste langa castel, chiar daca parintii i-au interzis sa se apropie. Stie ca acolo este EL. A auzit-o intr-o seara pe bunica vorbind despre asta, in soapta. Credea ca nu o aude.
-Poate apare la o fereastra… De ce nu apare?
Grandma has a very special sense of humor.
And so it began. The Airman, Dorliss, Dracula… A whirlwind of thoughts, questions and burning in the chest.
The girl runs outside in the mornings. She stops at the castle, even though her parents have forbidden her to approach it. She knows that he lives there. One evening she heard the grandmother softly talking about it. She thought that nobody would hear.
-Perhaps he`ll show up at the window … Why doesn`t he?
Si daca nu dormi, nu apare?
Zburatorul nu apare decat in somn, ti-am spus. Ca si Dorliss.
E timpul sa te culci!
De ce nu vrea sa-i spuna? O asteapta sa iasa. O aude inchizand toate usile. Liniste. Se furiseaza in pod. Acolo, in cufar, isi tine bunica toate cartile alea vechi. Este una pe care nu i-a aratat-o niciodata pe indelete. Spunea ca este doar pentru oameni mari. Cat praf!… Ah, uite-o! Pagini ingalbenite ce par ca se vor sfarama. Litere ciudate, parca sunt flori sau frunze insirate pe hartie. Noapte, cimitir, incantatie, cerc de foc … Deci, se poate?! Da, maine noapte il va chema. Ce mult e pana maine!…
The Airman appears only during your sleep, I told you. So does Dorliss.
–It’s time to sleep!
–Why doesn`t she want to tell? She`s awaiting for the grandma to emerge. She hears her closing all the doors. Quietly, she sneaks into the attic. There, in the attic, the grandmother keeps all the old books. There is one book that she has never showed to anyone. She says it is only for grown-ups. So much dust! … Ah, look at it! Old, yellow pages that seem to be crushed. The letters are strange, like flowers or leaves that are strung on paper. The Night, cemetery, chant, ring of fire … So can it?! Yes, tomorrow night he`ll be called. Tomorrow is not soon enough…!
Se furiseaza cu grija. E racoare. Inima ii bate sa sara din piept. Maine va trebui sa minta. A luat toate lumanarile din casa. Fara ele nu se poate. Nu i-a mai mintit niciodata pana acum. Deschide cartea. Florile, frunzele par sa ii joace in fata ochilor. Oare cat de tare trebuie sa vorbeasca. Daca sopteste si nu o aude? Daca striga si… Negru. Cateva clipe de intuneric si o ciudata senzatie de cadere in gol. Nu e durere, nu e frica. E doar o plutire. “Ce se intampla cu mine? De ce atata ceata? ”
She sneaks carefully. It’s chilly. Her heart beating out of her chest. Tomorrow she will have to lie. She took all the candles from the house. Without them she can not call Dracula. She never lied before. She opened the book. The flowers, the leaves seem to play and move in front of her. How loudly should she speak? What is she whispers and he won`t hear her? What if she screams and…nothing. A few moments of darkness and a strange feeling of falling into emptiness occurs. It’s not pain, it`s not fear. It’s just a float. “What is happening to me? Why all this fog? “
“Un sarut ca o arsura. Nu m-am gandit niciodata ca poate fi asa. Si ceata asta… Parca am plumb pe pleoape. Vreau sa vad si nu pot. Bunica zicea ca e frumos. Ma arde si, totusi, mi-e frig. “
“A kiss like a burn. No, I never thought that could be so. And this much fog and confusion… It feels as if I had something heavy on my eyelids. I want to see and I can not. Grandma said he is beautiful. I burn, yet I feel so cold.”
Nu au mai gasit-o niciodata. Cum nu si-au mai gasit nici ceilalti parinti fetele disparute. Degeaba au intrebat, degeaba au batut la portile castelului. Au gasit doar cartea. Cu paginile sfaramate, cu toate florile si frunzele ciudate risipite in farame. Bunica sta seara de seara si-i spune povesti in gand. Povesti despre dragoste, despre viata si moarte, dar mai ales despre viata fara de moarte. Erau toate in carte. Acum, florile si frunzele ciudate sunt doar in mintea si in sufletul bunicii. Dupa ce ea nu va mai fi, vor ramane in taramul nimanui si al tuturor. Ca orice mit.
They never found her again. It`s just like they never found the other missing girls. They have asked in vain, and knocked on the castle`s gates for nothing. They only found the book. They found the book with broken pages, strange flowers and leaves scattered in shards. The grandmother is still sitting there every night and tells stories in her mind. The stories are about love, life and death, and especially about life without death. They were all in the book. Now, the strange flowers and leaves are only in the grandmother`s mind and soul. After she`ll no longer exist, these stories will remain in the realm of anyone and everyone. Like any myth.