Le chateau de vent

It was still dark when she drove past the apartment blocks up to the police station. She had barely slept. A really bad cold. And being out at the murder site for hours yesterday had only worsened the coughing. She should quit smoking. But it wasn’t really the cold that had kept her awake. It was the girl. They hadn’t found one match with any missing person’s case in the database. It bothered her that she must be illegal or foreign. She’d bought a paper while picking up her lunch. Already they were hinting at a possible serial killer. She should go to the morgue today and have a good look at the corpse. And write a report, then go to the 2 o’clock meeting, get her motorbike fixed. She was driving past the bitch's restaurant and couldn’t resist looking. The curtains were down. Of course. The bitch had called yesterday, -after midnight of course- asking if she could come over for the night. She had refused. It made her so angry, she sat grinding her teeth in front of the wheel....

That night I dreamed about us. It was our first date in a big café with loud music and people talking all around us. "Let’s play a game," I say. "Alright, what?" "A conversation in which every word is essential. Nothing obsolete. Direct expression of feelings and thoughts. No hesitation. Are you ready for that?" She takes a cigarette from the pack on the table and lights it clumsily, bending her head toward the lighter. Shy. "Ok."she says.” You start." Concentrate. Break the ice. It’s not as easy as I thought. It flashes through my head. I want to spit out the passion, the complexity and the feelings I have for her in one clear moment, that will be remembered by both of us with the same intensity. It seems the most important thing to do: to create a memory that embodies everything we can be. We are both wounded animals, bruised by others. We bargain hard, knowing that every deception brings along more of that inevitable wisdom of li...

She would never return. I blamed myself for it, for asking too much. She made up stories for me. Very small ones at first. Later she began to write them down. I thought about it for a very long time: why she didn’t leave me a note. She wanted an open ending. She wanted me to continue the story. The next morning the police came to my door to ask me some questions about the dead woman and I wondered about reporting her missing. But I didn't. They showed me a picture of the woman. Her eyes were closed, slack jaw, damaged and puffy face, red hair in plaids on a white pillow. "Do you know her?" they asked. I’d never seen her."Hasn’t she been reported missing?" "No, not yet." a policeman answered, looking around the flat. "Do you live alone here?" "Yes." I replied. "Be careful. Don’t go out alone at night," the policeman said when they left. I stayed in that day and thought about you. They showed the woman on ...

"Eh,I have a sexual question," he whispers, while looking around carefully."Do you do them as well?" "Mon dieu", I exclaim, "why is it necessary to talk about the details of your eh intimate relationships with me, an old clairvoyant. You should see a doctor, one of those young and dynamic types that go jogging every day." "Let me explain, it is more a question of the mind that of the flesh." he continues, almost panicking, his forehead now blinking with sweat. "Ok, *sigh* what is it my dear man?" I sigh, "Impotence?" "No, no it's nothing of that kind. I am of Italian descent. "But," he hestitates, sighs and shrugs,"I have a fixation." "A fixation? Well I must say I have never ever encountered anyone I knew to have a fixation. I don't even know what you mean, my friend." I just babble along, hoping to fill the awkward situation he is creating with pointless words. ...

She walked out the door and never returned. She was supposed to be home when I came back from work, but she wasn't. It came as a surprise to me. She was out of words and out of love. When I walked into the street that night, I saw policemen moving people away from the tree near the apartment. They had discovered the body of a young woman. Strangled. I imagined how they must have found her. Peaceful, frozen, bloodless. I sat in the kitchen for hours, looking out of the window until nightfall. I watched television crews arrive, trying to get a glimpse of the crime scene. And suddenly I realised it was over. She would never return. *Edited 2 times

It was mid october when they finally found the body. It had been lying under a thick layer of maple leaves for some time. The woman had been dead for 12 days. She had been lying in a small trench on the strip of public garden near the appartment buildings, under the trees. Someone had noticed some cloth sticking out. That day, when the police blocked the whole street, because people wanted to come and have a look at the rotting corpse, that day, in the freezing cold of the first winter, I left. I walked out in a grey coat and never returned.

You ask me about the woman's body. Is it still there? Undiscovered? Hasn't the wind blown away the leaves by now? "No", I tell you, "it's not happening now. It happened a long time ago, Time is relative. She can be there for a very long time." We are sitting near the window of our appartment and you are looking out to the patch of trees in the public garden. "She's wearing a poncho, so I guess it happenend in the eighties. Nobody wears a poncho anymore these days." You look worried. We've been having some fights lately. About time. Spending more time together. You want more time to yourself. I feel I'm acting like a whimp compared to your decision making. But I don't know what to do to win you back. You are already leaving me behind. "She was pregnant." I blurt out. "She was 6 months pregnant when she died." Your eyes become dark and shiny you are angry. "You don't dare", you whispe...

He's a thin boned man with carrot colored sandy hair. Thinning every day now. He blames his wife. Ex now. She was cutting off all social contacts. Keeping him inside the house all the time. Like a sheep, a little lam, reading his paper and watching a quiz. He always knew the answers to most of the questions. Why did he live like this for 10 years? Listening to her, putting up with her gloomy moods. And now he resurfaces and suddenly feels his lungs fill with air. His body is older but his mind wants to return to the days before the wedding, before the mistake. Make up for the time he missed. He buys new after shave and men's magazines. He dresses adventurous and goes into town quite a lot, walking. He looks at himself in the mirror and decides he looks pretty ok after all. He'll go to the gym. He feels reborn, young at heart and tries to charm younger women. He's ready to meet someone new. He reckons it's not too late to be a father. But the women he meets polit...

She has an outer appearance of calm and rest that makes you doubt her abilities. What exactly is she capable of? Men past forty like to think she's a bit backward. That she could have had it in her to build up a decent career, but she just so odd that nobody trusts her. Imagine working with that woman and finding out she's smarter than you thought. She might upset the whole planning. We all know how women are. Stubborn. So she just sits quietly, stares at their ties and shiny shaven faces. Fakes a smile once in a while. And eats. She tears apart the pieces of smoked salmon with sharp teeth. Unnoticed. In her mind she growls and claws like an animal fighting for food. Inside she is forcing her way through the thick undergrowth of the jungle. She paints her body with fat strokes of red clay. And in her restless mind, she screams about how meaningless it all is. Because inside she is earth, fire, water and air. Only that, all that.

When I recover my senses I feel pain shooting through my head. My eyes are hurting. There are no defined forms, only a haze of colour and light. I have the impression I’ve woken up but I might as well be dreaming. Disorientation is complete. "Exactement!" a voice says, very near. "You are dreaming. Since you were rather difficult to persuade, we decided to .. eh ...shuffle the cards, to change the setting so we could continue our conversation in a more suitable environment: a dream. You don’t mind do you?" The old mother’s voice has lost its softness. She doesn’t do any efforts to hide her annoyance and bitterness. I’m opening my mouth to comment, but she interrupts. "Let’s face it, Edith, you just never shut up." "But..." "You see, now, don’t try anything. I am in complete control. Your powers are useless. I am delighted to inform you that I can seal up that busy mouth of yours anytime now." I try to protest but it is useless. S...

---Notice--- Madame Finistere is currently residing on a small island in the Gulf of Tonkin, Indochine. The internet connection here is a string of silk and they are using it for fishing too. The last part of the missing story will be published as soon as possible. It is true, they do eat cat in Vietnam 'Tit miao'.

Virginie brings me an elegant glass of sparkling wine. Champagne? I notice her slender hands with elegant silver rings. No stones. When she leans over to hand me the drink, her cardigan slips from her shoulder and reveals two sharp and dangerous collarbones. They leave me speechless. For a moment I forget to breathe, then force my eyes to sink lower into the safe warmth of her décolleté and further down the black satin dress. She knows I am looking, but she hesitates and for several seconds she remains absolutely still. Then she moves to a seat opposite mine and tries to catch my eyes while bringing a glass to her lips. "Santé". I look away. Strange, I never do that. The feeling of uneasiness returns. What am I doing here? "What do you want from me?" I ask her in a low voice. A sigh emerges from behind the chair. Then the mother continues. "I used to be good at finding solutions for people who wanted to disappear. I went wrong once in a while but I took...

"As a child she could quietly sit and watch out of the widow of a riding train, but when the train would slide into the darkness of a tunnel she would be gone when it came out again at the other side. Turn out the light for a second at a birthday party, just to enter with the cake and let her blow out the candles. Gone. No schooltrips, no walks in the woods or hide and seek." She pauses and then says dreamily. "Our family has always been able to arrange things. We had money and were successful in keeping it. We have also been able to remain beyond suspicion of police and detectives, although more than half of the family members of the last 2 centuries have at a point in their lives suddenly been involved in tragic accidents or simply moved away to desolate regions never to be seen again. It sure needs a clear intellect and lots of creativity to make up a respectful -and possibly happy- destiny for each of them. Luckily there were the wars. It's easy to lose tr...

I watched her struggle with it from a distance. She was chocking, I couldn't help. Paralysed. Arms holding me back, anxious to catch me. And she took it in, gulps of it, big chunks of love. Of live bait. "The inadequacy of not being able to show love immobilizes me" I told her. I carry stones in my chest. How can I run? How can I swim? How can I fly? How can I give you what you want? Break the mirror and walk through

We walk into the lobby, a big room bathing in red velvet, mirrors curly gold frames and lots of glittering crystal. Thick carpets cover the parquetted floors, the astracan wool moving under my footsteps as if it is alive and ready to engulf the whole room. Three strategically positioned chandeliers illuminate the bloodcoloured half moon shapes of antique seats. The walls are covered with paintings darkenend by smoke and dust. "Sit down, please" says the voice from the darkest end of the room. "I'm sure you would like to know why you are here." I can see smoke curling up form behind a velvet chair,its back turned towards me. Virginie moves to what seems to be bar. An exquisite art nouveau counter ornamented with big lillies finely shaped in wood and colored glass. Behind it rows of strangely shaped bottles and decanters. "What was all the hocus pocus up there in the hallway?" I ask, a little bit vexed. "And you seem to know all about me? Well ...

I glance to my right and distinguish a faint light, about 10 steps from where I'm standing. "Go on," my guide urges me. Two very strange-looking ligthbulbs throw long shadows and bizarre shapes onto the walls and corner. I can see a shadow emerging from the dark corner: an ancient wooden cabinet decorated with more encarvings. My feet are heavy, tired, hesitating. Instinctively my hand touches the heavy cold watch in my left pocket. Smooth silver, oval shaped and fitting precisely into my palm. As I run my fingertips slowly over the engraved initials on the back, suddenly the cabinet comes into focus. In a spilt second I can see every detail: the structure of the wood, the leathery, parchment walls behind it covered with drawings of human shapes, the wood carvings consisting entirely of human an animal bodies, turning, whriting, torsing, entagled. I can see thousands of different creatures. It' s horrifying, I have to avert my eyes. Quickly I open a drawer of the ca...

Her mother? I am baffled. I think I can barely distinguish a slender shape moving towards me. Or maybe it is what is left of my failing intuition that leads me to believe she is a tall and elegant woman. "Enchantée" she says. It feels as if a cloud passes through the hallway. Obscuring every shade, movement or colour. Her voice is breathy, soft but supple, like a singer’s. Instinctively I put out my hand and feel a soft palm and slender fingers pressing mine. She is wearing silk gloves. "I’m sorry," she continues, "but I have a problem with light." She has a peculiar Parisian accent not resembling any I know and speaks slowly, stressing every syllable. "Let us move forward into the lobby." she pauses, breathes, but then decisively continues."But first I must ask you to leave your watch at the hallstand at your right." I am seized by a feeling of general uneasiness. My watch is not a common article of use you find in the shops. I...

Here I am in a dark house I never imagined to exist. I have to admit I miscalculated. This lady wasn't talking about an ordinary disappearing act. She isn't interested in a tarot reading or a symbolic tale to help her believe in the significance of her life, after life or love relationship. I look at her and feel a slight tension building up. What if she's really older than me. But masked and mastering secrets of life I haven't found out about yet. I see her face in profile. She's very beautiful, ancient. Her ears are covered with silver earrings and milk white moonstones. Her pitch-black hair is held together by a very old ebony comb decorated with strange undistinguishable signs. Maybe I have been still for too long, not to have seen this coming. A sound is approaching. Rhythmic. A hollow thump followed by sharp clicks. It must be the gatekeeper. No one on earth would keep a door like this unguarded. "C'est toi, Virginie?" a sharp, breathy vo...

She takes me through an endless maze of little streets. We pass art deco signs of trades and crafts long extinct: silversmiths, a doll maker, manufacturers of enammel chamber pots, a freak show, a hat maker, rosary manufacturers, a bailiff's office consisting entirely of mirrors. And suddenly the sweet scent of tobacco in my nostrills when we pass a wholesale cigar seller. I'm never really lost in the city. My orientation is usually very precise. I rely on my instincts. But this time, all I feel is her hand pressing into my arm, pulling me ahead, further and further away from anything recognizable. Merde. There's no one on the street here. Not one car. In the distance I seem to hear the faint sound of horse hooves on cobble stones. It will probably be the absynth pulling a joke on my imagination. She walks fast, way too fast for a lady with varicose veins and a heart that's reluctantly pulsing an exaggerated amount of blood around. "Nearly there" she says...

Maybe she's been reading too much Paul Auster lately, I wonder. "Listen," I say looking at her firmly "people go missing because they're dead, murdered or in an accident or they fall off a cliff. Just be realistic. It's a question of coincidence. You disappear because you've misspelled a streetname and get lost and run into the wrong person, or trip over a treebranch near a dangerous river." Silence. Then she moves, getting up from her chair. "Rubbish" she says, she spits it at me like a cat with a bad temper. "I thought you would be able to think beyond the daily pattern. I hoped you would use your imagination to teach me something. But ... you're just like the rest of them." She's up and going, grabbing her coat, ready to turn her back at me. "Wait,"I say, "Excuse me. I'm not what you think. I don't have the key to the next dimension. I'm bad with places and humans. Smells and sounds is...

Les artichaux were delicious, by the way. And so was she. "It has something to do with not feeling whole sometimes." she tells me, while we drink absinth from little crystal glasses. "In the heavy fog in winter, when watching vapour curl out of the dark oily canal against a cold grey sky, I want to break every surface, dig into the frozen earth, tear up the street to discover what's underneath. I want more." "But are you not happy?" "I can't answer that." she says decisively. "I feel like I am living at the wrong speed, at the wrong moment, on a wrong level even. My feelings do not belong to me. How can I say I am happy: I only feel happy when I catch a glimpse of a possibility. To depart. To disappear." "Are You seeing a shrink?" I ask, getting a bit worried. She stares at the hairy inside of her artichoque. "Of course not."

I went Lighthousekeeping yesterday evening. It was good. Confusing, personal, confrontational and most of all recognizable. Everybody needs a lighthouse. A light to set the water on fire. I revisited my lighthouse a month ago. Since I was young I have been circling around it, approaching, forgetting, calculating if I would make it there swimming. Las Formigues

"Can you help me?" a young woman of around 30 looks at me as if I am her only hope. "I'm only a fortune teller," I answer, "but please do tell me your fears." "Do you know the stories about these people who all of a sudden disappear and never ever show up again? Normal people with jobs and families and kids and hobbies, who walk around the block one day to let out the dog or get some cigarettes or walk outside late, under the stars to put out the bin and... that's it. Gone?" "Yes, I've heared stories like that," I answer not sure what she means. "I think I'm one of them." she says, almost horrified at herself, her voice faltering. I look at her questioningly. "I have this urge, you see. I want to disappear. I've had it since I was young. But the feeling grows stronger. These last months it's been very difficult to resist." "But where will you go?" I ask. "I thought I co...

We are in your hotel room, getting bored. I don't know what to do with my arms and legs. Sit or stand. Where? It's been a while since I've last seen you and you look fresh, cool and alert. Younger. I wish there was a swimming pool in the room. Anything to get rid of this sweaty, hot feeling. You seem as restless as I am, looking at me with dark shiny eyes, trying to get inside me. I think about past decisions taken and start to feel worse and worse, unsure, arms still moving around without purpose one hand fidgetting with the other. I blink and suddenly there's a swimming pool in the room. It looks old. We are in an extremely big old hotel in Romania. You have just taken a dive. I watch your body in the black swimsuit and it looks so good. I never expected you to have such a muscular, firm body with a nice even tan. I want to touch you but you back away. Hurt, because I have rejected you before. I try to kiss you and eventually you give in, hesitating but excited...

I woke up this morning to a serenade of angry muttering sounds produced by my bedpartner. Complaints because the birds are singing too loud. Especially at 5 a.m. Impossible to sleep with that noise.