TCOTNK Season 3.10
TCOTNK Season 3.10
The Castle Of The Naked Knights. The origins of the picture book that will change so many lives....
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III
When Gorgio has said goodbye after two days, I feel more alone than ever. I'm crying for an hour while Uglee just trudges on. She keeps walking without me doing anything. Finding her own way.
I'm already completely used to the rhythm of her hooves. Not yet used to dealing with such a large animal. Despite the intensive and impatient training.
My bike hangs on the back. I have my drawings and books and my clothes. And I have all kinds of presents. Another dress. Blankets and a straw mattress. A rusty oil lamp and a canister of rancid oil. Also for cooking according to Gorgio. I have a wooden bucket. For drinking water. Food for a week.
They must have arranged this with the whole family in a hurry. My mind still doesn't understand it. My heart is at peace with it. At least the bottom half. It's sad at the top. Aggrieved. Grumpy. I am about to get my period.
As long as the sun shines it is nice on the box. But under the trees, or when a cloud passes over, it is cold. December. I'm further south, and the coast is not far, which makes a difference. No signs yet that winter is coming.
I drive over a gentle hill and then see the sea. The road bends to the left and we continue to follow the edge of the large body of water. Wide empty beaches. Wind. The smell of shells and fish and salt. It's so big.
I just keep looking at it.
Uglee decides when it is time to graze. Then she stands there with her head hanging. Waiting for me to untie her. There is a bag of oats, but she only gets two handfuls of them in the evening. She drinks from ditches. Being on the road like this is quiet but also very boring. I miss moving my limbs, the effort. Sometimes I walk a bit next to the cart. But that's just too fast. Riding the bicycle next to the horse feels very strange.
There only seem to be villages here. Lifeless and grey. Sometimes a farmer raises a hand. Sometimes I drive into a yard and ask for water. I often also get milk and a few eggs. Or something from the vegetable garden. No one just sends me away. That's probably because of my clothes. The other dress is ivory colored and set with ocher embroidery, has a high neck with the closure at the front and even the long sleeves are lined. I've been wearing it for a week. Also at night. Delicious. Imperial. Earthy.
There are three rocky outcrops off the coast. I gather the heavy skirts of my dress and stand on the box to get a better look. Further on, a river flows into the sea. The eroded banks consist of forest and shrubs. After three days with the water on my right, the road dips down into the valley. Away from the surf. Away from the high plateau.
The track meanders inland. Because there are many evergreen shrubs, the river valley seems very closed off. After days of vastness and enormous cloudy skies, I am wrapped in thick tangled growth. Very private. A woman’s underbelly. A wild forest. I smile at this image. The size of her. The amount of chaos. Life and death woven into each other. Many fallen trees. Higgledy-piggledy. Messy and disorganized. Everything is mixed up.
It seems to get greener as we descend. The wind doesn't come here and I hear birds chirping for the first time in days. It's like I'm waking up. I even see a butterfly frolicking among the weeds. The road bends to the right and then there is a very narrow bridge. I wonder if my cartwheels will fit between the siding low walls.
"Huu," I say to Ug and gently pull on the reins. She stops immediately. I put the brakes on.
The long stone bridge crosses the river. I walk halfway. Shallow, crystal clear and slow flowing. I see fish. Insects. The sun comes through. The banks are green and densely vegetated. The large round worn boulders are arranged with that wonderful randomness you could not possibly imagine. No architect can achieve that balance. I sigh. Finally the torn feeling about the festival seems to make way for the memory of it. It was so great. A chest full of treasures.
I want to draw. With a blanket over the bridge’s edge, I sit above the murmuring water and sketch the stone composition. Uglee grazes. Still straining, because the verge is a bouquet of tender grass. I took the wagon brake off for her. She has nowhere to go.
After the first drawing I want to make another one. My eye searches for the depths and I set my horizon high. So I can show a lot of the mirrored clouds in the sparkling water. There is even a small building on the left bank. Dark and a bit crooked. Perfect as a focal point.
Uglee walks onto the bridge. I fear for my wheels but it just fits. She greets me by putting her lips on my neck. I have my hair up. No doubt it smells very interesting. I push her away.
“I can't draw like that, you big lump! Go away! Just go to the other side!”
She does that very irritatingly. I keep looking to the side to see if things are going well. She keeps exactly in the middle and walks neatly down the slope. She doesn't stop but trudges on.
I'm completely out of concentration.
“Stop,” I shout, “huu, I mean Uglee, huu, now!”
She makes no bones about it. Growl. I grab my things together. Too bad, it promised to be a beautiful drawing. Waving the blanket, I quickly walk across the bridge. A pencil falls. I curse and go back to pick it up, close my pencil case better, grab my skirt and start running.
It's like that four-legged girl is being egged on by my quick footsteps. She only quickens her pace. I stay fifty meters behind her and don't come any closer. After the river the road goes slightly up again on the other bank. All that fabric around my legs. Running is tough. At least for me. Uglee is happily tripping on. Is that called trotting? The rhythm changes and the distance increases. Goddamn. I hardly ever curse, but this is not convenient.
“Uggllee! Huuuuu!” I shout with my hands to my mouth just as she disappears around a gentle bend.
With no intention of giving up yet, I run out of breath to the bend. Hoping to get her back in sight. But I don't see her. I walk on with long steps, panting. Slowly it dawns that I have nothing at all in this uninhabited valley. I can't even start a fire with that little bit of paper and those few pencils. I do have a blanket. And a pencil sharpener, my cynical voice adds. Poor consolation. I don't think it's funny.
