Short Story of a New Beginning

“My Lady, the princess is not in her bedroom,” said the maid unsettled.

“What do you mean?” I asked, for some reason I couldn’t understand a word of what she said.

“She left this.” She said and handed me a note. My sweet child wrote a few words, even with her scarce vocabulary and her clumsy handwriting.

“Mom, I went to the other side of the mountain. I want to find the flying horses”.

A tear rolled down my cheek, I sat down immediately and just thought:

“The hero journey.” The time flies indeed, it seems it was yesterday I first met her eyes.

Haunting

“Sometimes, I am scared of my own memory... My memory and all those sharp razors ready to haunt me the very second I make my mind up to forget; as an evil ghost refusing to leave the spot that made him feel at home, a ghost that I don’t seem to be able to escape from.” She said to me and I understood it was that time of the year. 

I got our clothes ready and looked at her, I always wondered why she used to do this memorial service, I read about it and it is a ritual practiced in Korea and other countries honoring ancestors, but it doesn’t seem to me this has to do with a dead relative, then what was this? I could never figure her out completely, there was always a missing piece to the puzzle. She got ready and told me to go with her. I always follow her silently, I know how annoyed she gets with noise, she says it over and over again in her books and poems: “Silence”, she claims to want silence; I wonder whether she wants it or she was left without options and ended up embracing it way too hard, and that’s why now she was so quiet. 

We started walking stairs up and I am not going to lie, it surprises me how such an old lady can move around so graciously as if life wasn’t as heavy as it claims to be at that age. 

“Should I wait here?” I said before reaching the door.

“Yes, please.” She said. I have been working with her for five years already and I still wonder whether we are friends or not, she can be extremely secretive about some matters, and incredibly open about others. The only thing she ever told me about this annual ritual was “I haven’t really learned to speak the language of those who are gone, but I have learned to listen to their requests”, and all I thought was “How can you listen to their request if you don’t understand what they are saying?”.

I sat down in the stairs and I could listen to her crying. It was always the same, the ghost she couldn’t run away from would still make her cry and she didn’t seem to want to be comforted. I wonder if she is paying some kind of penance. Maybe that religious practice of hers has more in it than what I have learned so far... Maybe I haven’t learned the real essence of it yet and maybe that’s why I don’t understand her.

Broken bridge

Photography taken by Madelaine Bustamante
[Added on August 8, 2020]

Heart, oh heart! Stop this nonsense

Tell me! Where did you lose it?

Let’s track back, maybe we’d find it.

Voices stay quiet I can not see me!

See? I mean, I can’t listen to me…

But do I really mean “to listen”?

You can not listen nor see

In this broken bridge of my soul,

Always taking me nowhere.

— Madelaine Bustamante

Like home

     He laid down next and told me:

- “Do you know, Lorelei? I, often, fantasize about you” And I giggled.

- “Still?” I said playfully, pretending to be unaffected. I knew he used to think a lot about me when we weren’t married, he would expose himself whenever we would have a discussion or whenever he was in a really good mood, as he was about to do at that moment.

- “Yes. When I am at work, I think of you... Especially when it is almost over. I think of what you are doing at home, because in my head you are always at home when I come back. You are taking a nap, you fell asleep reading a book in the living room, you are preparing dinner, you are putting your jacket in the hanger because you arrived a few minutes before me, you are laughing because you were thinking of something funny, you are on the phone with your mom and smiling at me. I like to think about you for many reasons, but when it comes to you and this house, you are the one making it feel like home, therefore when I think of you I feel rested already.” He said and I tried not to laugh, not because it was funny but because I didn’t know what to do with my emotions, with my excitement, with my love and I had to discharge it and I didn’t know anything better than laughing, even if I didn’t laugh and put all of myself on that. “What is that funny?” He asked. 

     And I was already worried about him getting mad, sometimes I just used to miss that he wouldn’t be able to see my face when he tells me something like that because through messages I can always act all collected.

- “Nothing,” I said ashamed of my own behavior. I didn’t really know what was expected from me in such moments, even if I knew, I am not the kind of person that can keep up to no one’s expectations; that’s why I like better people that aren’t interested in me, initially. “And what about those times when you arrive and I am not here yet?” I asked. Yes, that was me ruining the moment because I have a gift for that.

- “I never think of that. I get a bit grumpy if I get here and you haven’t arrived yet.” He confessed.

- “I like to wait for you,” I tried to open up too and turned to my right to see his face, his eyes were fixed on the roof.

- “I know. You say you are a cat, but sometimes you act a lot like a dog instead; and I know you don’t like the comparison but I like dogs, they are warm and kind animals.” He told me and I smiled and hugged him.

Mi alma confusa

Y ¿qué sabía mi alma? 

¿Qué sabía mi alma de culpas y penitencias,

de deseos y desobediencia? 

Me preguntaba con frecuencia,

mientras escarbaba mis asperezas, 

mientras buscaba entender mi propia incongruencia.

Tantos colores dentro de mí,

arrastrándome a la demencia;

tantas opiniones dentro de mí,

forcejeando y creando esta ambivalencia;

tantas penas dentro de mí,

rasgándome con furia.

¡Oh, alma! ¡Ten piedad de mí!

Comportate con mesura,

¿Dónde está la pureza?

¿Dónde la hermosura?

¿Dónde la inocencia? Entre tanta espesura.

Y el conocimiento...

haciéndose espacio en cada esquina de mi armadura,

y mi corazón adolorido, 

sangrando,

llorando,

no listo para la realidad que es tan cruda.

¡Oh, Señor Mío! ¡Guíame a Tu Dulzura!

¡Oh, Dios Mío! Perdona mis atrevimientos y rebeldía,

¡Oh, Creador Mío! Muéstrame con Tu Luz 

El camino hacia la paz de mi alma con Tu Cordura.

Madelaine Bustamante

[31 de Marzo del 2019]

Talking to the Moon

Photography by Madelaine Bustamante

Photography by Madelaine Bustamante

[Photography taken on Tuesday, April 7th 2020, 11:06PM]

I will tell you all something, whether you believe me or not, and whether I believe it myself… or not.

I met with the moon two weeks ago and we had a talk, do you understand? A talk, one to one, she and I. And I’d lie if I say it was our first talk, but it was the first time we got so close. She has been patient and kind to me, despite of all my hindrances and blockage, those of you who know me would remind and give faith of how slow I am in everything I do, and how fearful I am at all times; this weak nerves of mine, always playing tricks on me.

She embraced me, listened to me calmly and I would even dare to say that she was happy, happy to meet with me. And she gave me light signals, smoke signals, heart signals, she told me clearly and loudly that she was listening and I told her quietly and flickering that I didn’t know very well what I was doing and I told her over and over again that I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but then again… I was able to say that just because I could see she was answering.

Still there I was, shivering and terrified in my long pink dress at night, talking to the moon and begging her for some light, looking at her and thanking her for showering me with her beauty. There, with my pink note and my white flare, and there she was… with her immensity receiving me with open arms.

It is a long path, I will stumble so many times, even if I thought I had fallen way too many by now.

Thank you, Luna. Thanks for grabbing my timid hand with such delicacy and for looking at me with such tenderness, allowing to take my time before my next step forward.

And you all, did you talk to the moon tonight? Or were the flowers and the birds more appealing than the moonlight?

Lina and Banshee

“I got this for you.” The taller girl said, handing her a little doll. It was a lovely piece of art, it was very small, just a bit bigger than the arm of a child, it had been made with porcelain and the jade-green dress made stand out her blushed cheeks.

“Thank you.” The small girl one answered, trying to draw a shy smile on her face while caressing the cheeks of the little doll in her hands.

“Do you like it?” She asked looking into her eyes as if searching for answers beyond the one she was asking.

“I do. Thanks, Sasha.” The small girl replied avoiding her sight and fixing her eyes on the doll, looking at the doll in the eyes as if answering her instead of the woman in front of her.

“Have you been crying again, Lina?” Sasha asked her, saddened.

“No.” Lina replied softly.

“Why are your eyes so red then?” Sasha tried to understand. But how do you understand the waves of a soul that refuses to let you swim in its waters?

“Because I have been having a hard time sleeping lately,” Lina answered and brought the doll to her chest as if trying to hug her.

“Why?” Sasha asked, wondering if there was anything she could do to help.

“The night is gifting me its depths, it’s been hard for me to refuse it,” Lina said, playing with the doll, moving her hair and caressing it.

“That’s a nice way to put it,” Sasha told her sitting down next to her on the floor and placing her head on her shoulder as if giving up on her interrogation about her sleep.

“Where is Leif?” Lina asked, holding tightly the doll with both hands.

“He had to finish a few more orders and is going to be late. He said you shouldn’t wait for him awake.” Sasha let her know.

“The store is doing well lately,” Lina said while moving the doll back and forth.

“Yes. Leif had been an angel, I couldn’t have been able to keep up without him. My brother is coming back tonight or tomorrow and things will go back “to normal,” but thanks to Leif it seems that nothing had been different even without him.” Sasha replied thankfully.

“I am happy to know things are going well, I miss your brother’s cupcakes,” Lina said, moving the doll no more. Sasha laughed.

“You are gluttonous. Leif’s cupcakes are good too. Would you like me to bring some tomorrow?” Sasha asked.

“I know. Sure.” Lina answered and stood up. She said she was going to work on something in her bedroom and Sasha said she will get the dinner ready in the meantime.

Once in her bedroom Lina looked at her doll for a long while, she looked at her directly in the eyes again.

“What’s your name?” She asked playfully. “I am Lina.” She told her as if expecting an answer, but the doll remained mute.

Lina went to get her school bag, took out a light-blue marker and drew some tears in the doll’s cheeks.

“I will call you Banshee,” Lina said and smiled for real and openly now.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to cry for real, I already did it for you. Your job is done.” Lina told her while hugging her and started crying.

The doorbell rang and Lina looked at her door immediately. She didn’t move. She and her doll stared at the door and stayed in silence, a silence that seemed to consume the whole bedroom, it seemed to consume the tears, it seemed to consume the feelings, a silence that consumed Lina and Banshee, pushing them to disappear there, at that moment, that will be repeat over and over again until someone is able to open the white door.

Michael Jackson’s Little Susie beat cover.