I’m writing for almost all my life now and my one wish is to reach dreamer-souls like mine all over the world. While a real translation for my Starsong Saga is yet to come, I translated the first chapters myself, just to get the feeling.
Hope you enjoy it!
Dave’s thoughts were lingering grave in the air just like the fog outside, that was crawling through the meadows from the river with every prime of day. Their clampy fingers were tapping on the window of the backdoor, creeping up to the balcony on the first floor, calling for him. Invariably. Every morning.
He sneaked out of his wife’s embracement, who had her face against his shoulder, deeply asleep, as always. He picked up his dressing gown and stealthy, like a thief in the night, he stole away.
The open doors of Saras and Kevins‘ rooms reminded him, that the house was empty. Kev went to college since octobre. Sara was in Paris with a friend. Study travel. She was coming back the day after tomorrow. 20.30 at the busstation. Don’t forget!
The ancient timber stairs were creaking under his steps, bringing to his mind, that they should have been adjusted by now. A plan he had been delaying since they had moved to the old mill fifteen years ago.
„It’ll be the first thing to do next springtime“, he kept telling himself every newyears eve. For fifteen years so far.
He reached the backdoor with only a few more steps. The sun was just about to rise. She was sending a dim golden glow in between the knobby treetrunks, giving them the appearal of strangly shaped giants strolling through the mist.
A furry critter was scurrying through the branches. A squirrel or a tiny cat, maybe. A tawny owl starrtled when the creature was reaching its lookout, shooing away as a fuzzy shadow in the mists as well. The barn owl from the nearby forrest gave its last hoot before calling it a night, and the deer on the distant meadow turned their heads. They knew all too well, that breakfast would soon be over.
Stuck in reverent amazement, Dave stepped up to the stairs in front of the patio, like he had done every single day for the last fifteen years, to watch the magnificient spectacle of a new days arrival.
This had been the main reason for him, when byuing the old mill a decade and a half ago. He treasured the remoteness of the house. Even though he had to deal with the disfavour of his children for it. The calmness in the mornings, which was only missing during heavy rains, was the best time of the day. The world itself was drawing back then for a while. As if holding breath, it stoped and listened to all the stories already come to pass and all the ones on the brink to happen.
A long, long time ago in a different life, when he had not been a loving husband and caring father yet, he had knwon some words:
„The morning mist takes away the shortsight on the world from every living thing. Even time, disquietingly and restless, is blinded and takes a halt, to not lose its path. It’s the hour where all the three of them are present. Yesterday, today and even though tomorrow. And for those who are sciential to halt and wait and listen, it is even possible to get a brief prospect, of what this tomorrow might be holding.“
This long gone memory unfolded a smile on Dave’s face, but only till the squealing of the timber floor disturbed his quietude.
„Allready caught a worm, Mr. Earlybird?“
His wife was wandering from the livingroom into the kitchen.
„You could have made coffe, at least?“, Caitlin started complaining.
Drawers were opened much louder than it was neccessary and every following sound from the kitchen was proof of her resentment. Dave tried not to get distracted by it, while watching the sun expulsing the last misty remains between the trees, which danced away into the sky like pale nymphs.
„Where are the filters?“
„Forgot to do the groceries.“
He finally turned his back on the garden and with a sheepish look on his face he scuffled towards the kitchen. He had almost crossed the room, as a sudden movement outside drew his attention. He got back to the door only one moment too late.
Was his mind starting to deceive him?
His imagination kept telling him, there had been the shadow of a human figure outside, jumping to its feet the very moment the last bleary veils liftet off the ground, submerging in the thicket of the forrest.
„Dave? Are you listening, or what?!“
Caitlin stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, furiously staring at him. Dave threw a last glance over his shoulder, but nothing. The figure was gone.
„Can’t you tell every goddamn leaf apart from the others by now? Why the hell is it so freakin‘ hard for you to listen. Only once! It was your turn. I even wrote a note and stuck it to the pinboard yesterday. Guess where I found it just right now? Can’t you at least once act like you were a normal human being?
I get, that I should have thought this through before marrying an author. But even intellectual luminaries need to satifiy their essential needs!“
Dave already knew his wife’s temper too well and that it was best to just keep quiet. An hour from now he would go to the next supermarket, get the groceries and a giant bouquet of flowers for Caitlin. That should do the trick.
He sighed. There had been times, he remembered, when she wasn’t that peevish at all. But the striking success of the chancellery and the better payoff had not only limited her free time. Relaxing days and being in a good mood also had become rare.
Well, that’s what is was all about once you aspired to get somewhere with your life, Dave was guessing. Not everyone was given the calm life of a somewhat famous author, dreaming about medieval times and solving murders in his mind.
Dave also remembered a time even long before that. He would never have dreamed about his nowaday life. Not in his most devious dreams. Meeting a woman, keen on living her own life and earning her own money, wearing trousers and speaking her mind, like Caitlin did, was a concept totally new to him. He would never have spared a thought about ever proposing to such a woman – not to metion his astonishment when she rejected him for the first time.
His path had been laid out to him straight and clear. Yes, there could be ups and downs, that his father assured him of. But he never mentioned all the sideways and secret passages, that could open to one travelling the road of life.
His life was different now, than it would have became, if he had stayed at home. That one thing was for sure.
Had it been the better choice though?
Dave was not able to tell. Not even after fourtytwo years.
While dropping a spoon of honey aside his sweet roll, his thoughts wandered back to his father and his brother and the fake passport with his picture and the name ‚David Vindour‘ on it, that stuck in his wallet. His whole life here was based on this lie, he would never be able to tell anyone.