Maria Pia Oelker - In The East

Maria Pia Oelker

IN THE EAST

The long road of dreams

Translated by Maria Burnett

Published by Tektime

Copyright @ 2020 - Maria Pia Oelker

The white light of the moon that was rising above the grove of pale silver cypresses contrasted with what was left of the sunset that still lit the western sky, towards the plain and the sea.

Until a few minutes before, it had been an explosion of violets and oranges, of faint pinkish stripes, of anthracite tongues and golden-red flames. The sun had gone darting proudly and, as it vanished rapidly on the horizon, greeting with a last flicker the moon that was rising on the other side of the sky with her group of stars.

The prince watched them, as an admirer, yet powerless spectator.

He would have liked to catch those last rays of sunlight, to hold back those flashes of light, to feel invaded again by that fleeting feeling of happiness that seemed so intense to him every time, that it took away the sense of time, the memory of everyday things. And now he was trying to hold on to every last trace of that dying light with his eyes; the outline of the distant hills, which stood out pure and clean against the sky; every little detail of the large park, of the trees and of the tanks that darkness was about to swallow; finally, threads of the distant river that appeared here and there in the fields between rows of light poplars. The moon came to overtake the earth and to light up that world which the sun had made alive and strong during the day and over which the moon had no power to call to life with her pale light. The moon could only to console and protect, cradling its dreams and making other beings that were on the border between magic and reality come alive.

There, in the ancient oak forest that stretched almost infinitely behind the castle park to the most remote mountains that the eye could meet on the horizon, there were mystical creatures who enjoyed the silver light and lived in the its trembling shadows.

The prince had heard about it many times in his childhood from the old housekeeper, who had taken care of him since he was a baby in the cradle of lace that his mother had prepared him with her loving hands.

He thought he had loved his mother for too short of a time, and yet he had loved her very much in those short years spent together in the great halls of the palace, mostly empty for most of the year, which came alive only when his lord and king and father, deigned to come to visit and stay with them for a few weeks, gifting them his splendid vitality, his exhilarating noisy cheerfulness, exaggerated like his sudden wrath.

The prince had adored the king, whom he had known even less than his mother: he had taught him to ride and to go hunting with the falcon; he had told him the names of the stars observed together on serene nights and the world of ancient books. He had played with him and told him terrible war stories of ancient and fearless heroes with shining armor and a noble soul.

Never had the prince asked him why neither his mother nor he could leave the castle and the park when he was absent: although he was small, he already knew that was a forbidden question. One day he had questioned the queen, who was embroidering and reading at the window and she had smiled enigmatically: "Never ask why, it's a secret between your father and his fantasies. Don't ask anybody, because nobody knows it and don’t even ask your father because he would whip you in his anger. This is my enchanted kingdom and the key is nowhere to be found except in the heart of the king. But he will never give it to anyone. You will be able to leave when you grow up.”

" No, Mother. Not without you " he replied then.

But now he was just waiting for the right opportunity to do it really, definitely, and freely.

When would that opportunity arise?

He was sixteen now and he knew his time had come. That is all he waited for and all he prepared himself for.

His father had died three years ago and his mother a few months later. Shortly before she died, she had told him, looking into his fearless, bold eyes:

" The king took the key with him. However, I will never leave here. You can do it as soon as you are ready. “

" How will I know I am ready? “

" You'll know. Be careful though: don't let that moment pass you by or you'll lose it forever. “

" Can't you tell me, mother?”

" You are the only one who can. “

Now he was sure he had heard that voice that warned him "inside" and had to remain alert to not be caught by surprise.

Antonia, his nurse, once as dark as the crow's wings and now almost all grey, who had cradled him and fed him more than his mother, who had held his hand tight when he had been afraid of storms or cries of his father, who had consoled him for the queen's crying and had played with him in the long corridors and in the park; Antonia had told him many stories about the forest and its inhabitants, who sometimes went to the windows of the castle and the stables of the horses at night and danced and ran and called and rustled flying from tree to tree, without leaving footprints and vanished in the morning sunlight.

"If I stayed awake on full-moon nights, would I be able to see them?" He had sometimes asked, hopefully.”

"No, they wouldn't come close if they knew someone was watching them."

“ But I would be well hidden.”

Antonia had laughed at his naivety “ My dear little prince, they can also see what is well hidden.”

“ So how can I see them?”

-”You can't, you just can't.”

" So, you are lying to me, because if no one can see them, the first one to tell these stories must have invented everything.”

His reasoning made perfect sense, just as his father and his teacher had taught him.

"Someone met them," Antonia whispered.

" How did they do it? Tell me and I'll do the same.”

" No, for heaven's sake. No." she had almost shouted, terrified" Whoever looked at them became half-crazy with fright. I couldn't let you do it.”

That was certainly an exaggeration! She was a simple woman, good and dear, but a little ignorant. His master had taught him that those goblins, witches, evil birds, and other such things were only fables for children and local people. He didn't believe it, but he liked that Antonia still considered him a young, naïve boy, ready to listen to her.

He liked the fact she still considered him her child, shy and dreaming, playful and greedy for caresses and cuddles.

In reality he hadn't been so for a long time, perhaps even since his father had sent him away from his mother for the first time, to take him with him for a long week of hunting deer and foxes in the mountains.

He was then little more than eight years old and had never left the rooms of the castle, the flower beds of the park, full of colors in the summer and sparkling frost in the winter, the thin gravel paths that rolled up and wound between the meadows, fountains and hedges. Never had he gone to bed without first kissing his mother and listening to Antonia's fairy tales.

Thus, at first, he had felt completely overwhelmed, too tense and excited to really enjoy the company of his father and his knight friends, who also usually made him elated; he could not fully understand the instructions of the king, who had repeatedly scolded him bitterly, making him cry bitter and desolate tears, as if his head was stuffed with cotton wool. It was shrouded in fog like the peaks of the high wooded mountains, which he began to glimpse at, for the first time in his life, a few hours after leaving, on the eastern side.

From there, behind those high peaks, which sometimes rose black and terrible in the blue evening sky, sometimes shaded in the morning light, hidden by a floating haze, the sun and the moon came up, both filling his heart with wonder.