TCOTNK 2.1 Six letters and a postcard
If you haven’t read the first season of TCOTNK the following writings will not make much sense. I suggest you read those fifteen chapters first….
back to chapter 1 (of part one)
(The postcard)
The fourth day.
Dear people of Oucatur,
Is that how you write the festival’s name? I have only heard the word, and my head is a mess. This morning I was transferred to the North Wing, Fourth Floor Room 4. Not in the main hospital. I hate that I can't finish the work I started. Please continue with the dragon-gate and make it an unforgettable event. Greetings,
M
BTW this is nurse Dwendelyn's handwriting I've written down his mumbles. I’m a volunteer in the charity hospice across the street where he has been moved to.
1st letter day 4
Scarlotte,
Is it okay if I write to you? Stupid question to ask in a letter, but I don't know anymore. So much has happened. All our beautiful plans have been broken so abruptly. For me at least, because I'm assuming you're still going, that you're extra busy right now. Were you successful in arranging those hydraulic booms? This hospital is too far from the site for you to just drop by. I want to let you know that I totally understand. You don't have a phone (because it's on an independent adventure), your budget is challenging and I don't think social visits to the sick and wounded are really your cup of chai. Grrg, I am not good with words. I suck at writing, and feel horrible to abandon you like this.
Feel free to use the camper. You probably already do. Well, I don't have much more to say for now. The whole story and all the fuss will come later when we speak again. Hopefully before the festival. Is it in two weeks? I've lost track of the days. You know I’m not a calendar guy. I count the days from when I woke up (therefore the fourth day). I'm still stuck to the bed, half upright. I hardly move. Even writing is painful. Anyhow, I'm a very lucky lame bird.
Send my best regards to everyone.
Hope to see you soon,
M (room 444)
2nd letter day 11
S,
Maybe you've been to the hospital and didn't find me. That's why I'm writing to you. I also don't know what you will or will not get from my situation, but I’d hate it if you thought I would just leave you behind without dropping you a note. If anyway possible I would come your way but I can't just yet. Sorry that it all has to be mysterious without addresses, but it is what it is. I care a lot about you, that's not the point. But a man my age has to be careful when dealing with underage girls. Sigh, it looks so wrong on paper. Still, the time together was special. I can't speak for you, but I think it was mutual.
Is the dragon head ready yet? And without further mishaps I hope? In the green book, to the right of the kitchen cupboard are sketches of the wings (last few pages) which I thought have the best shape. The mechanism I’d figured out is also there. I have every confidence in your choices. Use your own insight and if it doesn't work in one go, just try again, don’t get lost in the details. Which you won’t, you have an even wider view than me. I'm thinking about you and the festival a lot and can't wait to be able to move more freely again.
Michelangelo
PS I'm going to assume this will reach you despite the flawed address.
3rd letter day 13
Dear Scarlotte,
Sorry for another one of my whining epistles. It's the only way I can reach you right now. But I want to warn you. A detective may come by and inquire about me. He'll use my real name (which you don't know) and he'll probably want to confiscate everything that's mine, even if it's not much. Just claim the car and its contents. Say it’s all yours. Let them prove it isn't. As long as you don't drive it off the premises. It is not insured or registered. Just like me. I don’t think it has an official owner. Until I return you are the guardian of my wheeled kingdom.
Other than that I don't want to bother you with my troubles. My life is a mess, I had to move again. The body recovers slowly and this constant pain is hardly bearable. Can’t afford painkillers right now. Sometimes I'm up for an hour and I can breathe a little again. Laughter is total torture. So I try to avoid that. Difficult of course for a joker like me. See, I suck at writing and feel really awkward. I do not sound like me at all. I try to read, but keep falling asleep within two paragraphs. Maybe it's the books in this horrible place. And when I try to sleep I lie awake from the nagging pain or my quarrelling neighbours. Enough. You have a festival to celebrate, not letters to read from old wailing men.
Dearest regards,
Michelangelo the Fallen
PS
I've been having the craziest dreams lately, in which you appear and the others too. I write them down in my cheap notebooks. I miss my drawing supplies and diaries. The tools and the stuff. I’m a material man. Would so prefer to paint the inner world scenes, but that's not possible right now.
5th letter day 33
Scarlotte,
In last week's letter I told about the meeting with Barin. Four days after I ran into him at the raw milkman’s dairy (delivering his fresh goat’s milk and the crazy expensive ice cream his wive produces) he showed up at my doorstep with a box of food. We chatted for a few hours and he helped to tidy things up a bit. Turned out he is a woodcarver (the chainsaw type) and has a rural workshop. And you know what? I now live with him. No, not like that, he's married (the old fashioned way) and has two seven-year-old boys. And I like women way too much by the way, but what a difference. I am out of that shitty squat hole and its depressing city neighbourhood! Countryside, my own room. They take such good care of me. I am deeply grateful and it is good for my health. Finally I feel like it's going somewhere again.
And they have books here. Lots. Barin is also full of stories, a wonderful craftsman and has a side that is unusual and reminds me a lot of you. You are also unusual, no, rare, special. You know that, don't you? I miss you, I miss our evenings and our mornings, I miss swimming, I miss your smile and I hope, no I want to be honest, I long to see you again soon.
In my mind I give you one of those extraordinarily long hugs. Let people think what they want, I love you the way you are. Never before have I met someone like you.
Lots of love from your Michelangelo,
—-
Please let me hear from you. Now that the festival is over, I don't know how to reach you.
I will try to get to the site at short notice in the hopes that you'll still be there to help clean up or whatever. If you have to leave earlier or move on, leave a message with Joe so that I can find or reach you.
6th letter day 50
I do not get it! Went to the festival grounds three days ago. Everything was gone. They cleaned up thoroughly and left almost no trace. It was a bad experience. I don't know what I expected, but not such a total nothing. I got a dent from it. Another one.
Barin and a friend of his were with me. That was a good thing because I can't drive yet. Picking things up or lifting something is also not yet feasible. Waah, I can't tell you how frustrating I find this!
We were there Sunday evening. The office and material depot were wiped clean. Even the trash was gone. To my surprise my loyal camper stood next to the shed. Weird feeling to steal something that belongs to you. Is that even possible? Well, I don't think anyone misses it and I'm happy to have my old rust bucket back. It's about the only thing in the world I own. Barin's friend didn't have much time (it was his car we came with) and he left when it turned out the camper engine hadn’t died in the meantime. Barin and I drove back together the slow way, avoiding all main roads. It now hides with a full tank (quite a bit goes in) in the friend's hangar in between a hundred big rolls of hay. So, when I'm ready I can go.
I don't know how to reach you. The festival's website is down and I never got around to jotting down any details. I only know first names or nicknames. I'm sending this to last year's mailbox and hope it gets to Joe and then somehow to you.
Michelangelo,
Oh, and one more thing. During the trip, Barin told me that he has been asked to participate in a new festival, somewhere way up north. It sounded amazing. Like our little festival squared. Barin even got a budget, his own team of volunteers, he was allowed to send a list of materials he thinks he needs and he can take his family with him. All inclusive. Imagine that! He calls it a ‘viking’ festival, but that’s just his emphasis. I don't think that's what they have in mind. The website is insane; totally visual and mystical, a kind of synthesis of everything that is going on. There is no name yet. Like a blank canvas. This is how it should be done. Ancient Nordic culture mixed with alternative, but focused on a real future. So completely now! It sounds totally like you. The countdown is already running. Next year, just after midsummer, and it will last no less than ten days! I'm dead jealous he is in.
Though it's still a long way off I thought maybe we could meet up there and give it another try. But maybe you're busy with other things in the meantime, I don't know, was just a thought…
Oh Michelangelo! You made my heart hurt for him. What a great way to set up empathy—a one-sided correspondence. I feel his loneliness, desperation, longing. Makes me question whether the connection was also one-sided. Did Scarlotte feel a preciousness too or is she already on her way to new adventures? Great chapter Troy, looking forward to the next!