Why is that…

…Why is that when ever the weight of time pressures someone from each side he is able to be the best he can be and when finally he can catch a breath from under this pressure his only desire is to get back to his former life, ‘cause he feels idle…He can’t even write as he wants to, words don’t pour out of his mind and as soon as he starts his thoughts he changes something, because he feels that something is not right… I’m taking part in a boring afternoon right now. For days now I’m trying to get away from the overwhelming heat of the summer. People are dull and bored and even that worthless small dog on the edge of the road puts its head between its paws and takes a nap in the shadow of the stairs. Everything is the same…the house is empty…everyone is struggling somewhere so this can all be over and the summer vacation can start. I’m sitting here idle listening to some of the inhabitants of this neighborhood as they babble of nothing special…It seams that you can write a couple of rows even about being idle and doing nothing…maybe even more than I previously thought. Everyone is treading his alley, with troubled heads walking on their solitary path. Sometimes this world is so beautiful, but than again it’s so… I cannot find the word… this hadn’t happened for a while. People are lonely these days… there everyday dull lives push them forward, but sometimes not even that. There aren’t any ideals, heroes, suffering young lovers, just grey worn faced shadows. Here and there you can still see a person but the haze washes him away in an instance. The children still happily play the grownups’ world, laugh and frolic around. And you slowly lean out and shout at them, because at this time of the day a grownup needs peace and quiet, forgetting that once you were in their place. And once your child will ask you Hey Dad, weren’t you a child once?… and words will stop in your throat, you crawl into yourself and slowly nod, knowing that those moments will only visit you on a sleepless night… And now I feel that I should refresh one of these small stories, but something tells me not to…Probably ‘cause I don’t remember it or maybe you don’t want to share the treasure you hold inside you…And in times like this your childhood hours come to life. On summer days like this when in a sleepy old village you and your cousins were quietly playing in your own world. These are the hours that appear in front of my eyes now…The four children are playing in the sandbox in front of the small house, hiding from the scorching rays of the Sun. On the worn blue walls lies the cool foliage of the grapevines. Beneath it eight tiny hands are shaping clay… They soak their hands in the small riffle so the clay will slide more easily between their fingers. Suddenly grandma’s voice rises from the kitchen… – Oh you devils! Didn’t I just tell you that the cows will have to drink from it!… The four small heads somberly look at the ground. Feeling embarrassed they had back to the sandbox and look back. – Grandma’s gone – And the activity resumes. How many wonderful figures rise from the hands of the children. Ducks, chicks and even a tiny cow comes to life and dances in the sand, thrashing around the sand with its jumps. Three of them get up. The clay is not enough…They need some more and soon enough the whole farm will be jumping in the sand. I was left by myself… with agile moves the clay turned into an eye, ears and two horns….AAAAhhh – screamed the child. Everyone ran towards him. The huge red rooster had jumped on his back and pinched his shoulder. The smallest of the four was screaming, fighting the red beast. Soon enough granny’s figure stood there, grabbing the rooster by its wings and wiping the tears of the child’s face with her other hand. – Don’t worry son…I’ll cut it in an instance. Let me see that scar – The three playmates arrived, Everyone was cheering him up. It’s okay…everything’s fine. He sniffed and wiped the last of his tears. The danger was gone… then slowly the animals in the sandbox started jumping around again….And it looks like I could write this down. Tiny childish memories from a past period. It’s good to think back. And maybe this heat is not that unbearable anymore. It was worth leaving today…

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) 25th of July 2006

 

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