Rendezvous with Hymera Read online

  A Planettopia Publishing Book

  Rendezvous With Hymera

  Copyright © September 2013

  Illustrator: Ionut-Augustin Coliolu

  Copyright e-Publication September 2013

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Rendezvous with Hymera

  Melinda De Ross

  To the love of my life.

  Do not hope and do not fear,

  What is wave like wave shall pass;

  If it calls you, if it lures you,

  Remain cold until the last.

  My free translation after Mihai Eminescu –Glossa

  The horizon stretched boundless in front of her – a décor of shape and color, oscillating in a slow but permanent transformation under the calm, indulgent blue of a clear sky. As the car moved through the smoky background of the mountains, the road became more and more sinuous, the curves tighter and more frequent.

  In the four hours of her journey, the June landscape gradually changed; with the increasing altitude, the green, smooth vastness of plain – punctuated by the intense yellow of a few sunflower islands – gave way to an abundance of mountainous vegetation beyond which wooded ridges filled the view, flirting to the peaks with waves of fog and snow. At that point, a sort of finis mundi, the sky and the misty crests seemed to merge into a primordial entity.

  Looks like not only Hell, but Paradise also is on Earth, thought Clara, while from the audio system inside the car came the perfectly modulated notes of Alphaville’s Forever Young, conferring a nostalgic vibration to the ambiance. Stimulated by the evocative music, by the picturesque and strange beauty of the scenery, a mixture of nameless emotions gravitated in her soul. For in such moments of melancholy and reverie, one’s spirit yearns for an undefined something, in permanent search and aspiration to a fulfillment whose road or purpose almost always remain inexpressible.

  Slumped on the passenger seat, which had been adjusted back as a concession to his comfort, Tony was snoring gently with his golden fur caressed by the sunlight. In the first half hour on the road, he had stood with his head out the window, tongue waving, fascinated by the sights, but even the huge energy reserves of a dog know limits.

  Clara affectionately ruffled his hairy ears; then, concentrating on the route, took a slight curve, marked with a traffic sign. On the right side of the road, visibility was limited by a rocky slope, somewhat oppressive and apparently interminable. On the left, beyond the edge of a parapet stood a kind of valley, with a few huts straying in an abyss of vegetation.

  After yet another curve to the right, partially hidden by the mountain and a clump of shrubs seemingly disposed in an artistic arrangement, Clara discovered a place which her imagination immediately associated with a mirror-portal to one of Monet’s impressionist paintings. A small lake, crystal clear, sprinkled with water lilies, lazily undulating over the illusions of clouds reflected in the waters. Near the shore, a small boat, archaic-looking, swayed fluidly, carried by the gentle breeze. A pretty hedge flanked the right half; on the opposite side, along shore, the exotic landscape was balanced by the rustic touch of a few cottages.

  Taking advantage of the extremely light traffic, Clara slowed down and stopped on the verge of the road.

  From there, fascinated by the strange charm and static grandeur of that place, she contemplated the panorama. Confused thoughts of her own existence – so often restless and not as stable as she wanted – dripped a vague nostalgia in her soul. And suddenly, boosted perhaps by the image of the path that detached itself from the main road to reach the small paradise, she made up her mind.

  The end of the road was divided in two alleys, one of which ended in a small parking lot and the other, paved with an interesting gravel and marble mosaic, meandered asymmetrically in front of each cottage.

  Clara got out of the car and opened the passenger door for Tony. Still heavy with sleep, the dog left the seat lazily and, for a few moments, sniffed the new surroundings. Then he stretched, shaking himself, extending his paws and tail; the ritual ended with a guttural groan and a yawn of epic proportions, during which he displayed a crocodile dentition; now, a preliminary examination of the area could begin.

  The first of the seven cottages was the largest, a two-story building, having several windows and a sign that announced simply: ROSE UNIVERSAL, and below: COTTAGES FOR RENT.

  The rest of the cottages were two-storied as well, but smaller, built along the shore, at distances that ensured a minimum of discretion and privacy. For an aboriginal who landed here straight from the noise and infernal pollution specific to big cities, the impression of heavenly oasis was also emphasized by an almost tangible quiet, in which the stylized solfeggios of unseen birds occasionally entwined.

  Clara took off her sunshades, as the strong light was softened through a network of shadows cast by the cottages and trees surrounding them. Breathing in deeply the fragrant air, she strolled to the main building.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said, addressing Tony, who was frolicking around her, chasing a butterfly.

  However, before they got to the door, it opened and an old woman made her appearance. She was wearing a green dress, and had a shawl on her shoulders. Her curly grey hair was cut short, and from behind the glasses resting on her nose, a pair of very sharp eyes watched Clara.

  “Hello. Are you Mrs. Rose?”

  For a moment, the woman analyzed her curiously.

  “Depends,” she finally answered. “If you wanna sell me something, advertise something or charge me for something, you’ve got the wrong address,” she continued brusquely and somewhat grumpily.

  Clara laughed, surprised and amused.

  “No, actually I came to find peace and quiet. Do you have a vacant cottage?”

  “Yes. If you want to rent one, you’re in the right place. I’m Rose,” said the woman, with the same sharp but now jovial tone, this time warmed with a smile. “Cute mutt you got here,” she remarked, scratching Tony’s ears; the dog collapsed ecstatically at her feet, bracing his huge paws on her shoes.

  “Thank you, we think so, too. His name is Tony. Quite a place you have here!” she said admiringly. “I was just thinking it’s like a miniature version of Eden.”

  “Yeah... And the least populated it is, the better! Although that’s not so good for business. Oh, well...Come in!”

  The big cottage was, according to the sign above, a universal store, where you could find anything, from food to needles. The merchandise was arranged on shelves, and along the right wall was a massive walnut desk, a chair and a small portable TV.

  “You’re well supplied,” remarked the young woman. “But who buys all this stuff?”

  “There’s a small village about four or five miles from here. All the folks there come to me for shopping, and I use somebody from the metropolis for supplies. It’s only thirty miles to the city, but I hate all that dust and crowds, where you always bump into weirdoes on the street,” said Rose. “For now, I’ve got only two cottages occupied; in one of them live Marie and Robert Axel and in the other one stays Mr. Garcia. The Axels both work in the city, and the old man, a fanatical botanist, wanders all day long through the wilderness searching for unusual plants. The funny thing is he often gathers the most common weeds,” she added, as if to herself. “Oh, and other times he sits on the shore or floats in the boat and pretends to fish.”

  “Why do you say he pretends?”

  “Cause I never saw any fish caught by him.”

  While speaking, Rose to
ok out a register book from a desk drawer. After she informed Clara of the renting fee, the latter decided to stay a month for starters.

  “Got an ID? I have to know who I’m hosting, don’t I?”

  Clara rummaged through her bag and gave the old lady her passport and the required money.

  “Clara DeVine,” read Rose, noting the data in the register, then she analyzed her skeptically over the top of her glasses. “You’re twenty-six?” she asked incredulously. “I wouldn’t have granted you more than eighteen.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” replied the young woman, smiling, although the tone of Rose’s remark wasn’t necessarily flattering.

  “Sign here, please, and I’ll show you to your temporary residence.”

  After she signed, Clara followed her outside. Her cottage, the third in line, was placed at a convenient distance from the others. It was roomy enough, with a small garden in the back, surrounded by a colorful hedge. Near the back entry, a table and two chairs that appeared to have been woven from twigs supplemented the decor.

  Inside was dark, pleasantly cool, and the air carried an intimate and unmistakable fragrance of freshly polished wood. The cottage consisted of a living area, simply furnished with a massive couch, a coffee table and, in the opposite corner, a TV incorporated in a small bookcase; on its shelves were scattered a few books and magazines.

  On the left, next to the couch, a staircase led up to the bedroom, and on the right, there was a crescent-shaped bar. Behind it was a limited a kind of kitchenette. In the center of the living area, on the polished walnut floor, reigned a unique-looking rug, manufactured, in all appearance, from what had once been an enormous bear.

  When Clara headed to the stairs for an inspection of the upper floor, Tony remained to smell the bear fur, intrigued and cautious. Although he was an impressively built Golden Retriever, courage wasn’t his strong suit, and the nickname Brave heart, with which his mistress sometimes teased him, was an obscure mystery for him.

  The bedroom, she noted with delight, was furnished as simple as the rest: a huge bed, hedonistic-looking, a nightstand on each side of it, a closet and a small desk in a corner. In the opposite corner, a door led to the bathroom.

  During this inspection, Rose remained in the living area with Tony. When Clara descended the stairs, the old lady raised her eyebrows and watched her over the top of her glasses.

  “Comments?”

  “I like it!” exclaimed Clara excitedly. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

  “Well, then, I’ll leave you to get settled. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Rose,” she said, as the old woman headed to the exit. Once she reached the door, Rose turned around.

  “I hope Tony’s got impeccable… hygienic manners!”

  “Definitely. He’s extremely well educated and clean. We won’t cause any trouble, I promise.”

  “All right, then. Enjoy your stay!”

  Left only with Tony, Clara remembered her travel bag, which she had left in the trunk of her car, and returned to the parking lot to recover it. Although initially she had intended to stay for a few days in one of the metropolis’ comfortable hotels, she didn’t regret in the least the decision to stay a while in this isolated paradise. Getting back to the refuge of shadows and coolness of the cottage, she climbed the stairs loaded with luggage and entered the bedroom, where Tony already seemed to feel at home.

  The first things she unpacked were the plastic bowl especially imprinted with the spoiled quadruped’s name, his food, the small bag containing her cosmetic products and a bathrobe. And because a small amount of discipline never hurts, the dog had to eat on the veranda. With this matter solved, the young woman decided it was time to take care of herself, as she felt the passive fatigue of the road in every muscle. Not having an established schedule or a certain destination in mind, she had started her journey late, in her own comfortable rhythm, which she preferred. Although it was just past 7 p.m., after she relaxed, taking a long and very hot shower, the monotonous humming of insects and the conifers’ fragrance were the last things she noticed before falling asleep, with Tony curled on a rug near the bed.

  ***

  The next day, Clara awoke under the assault of Tony’s warm, wet tongue, having her ear lovingly chewed.

  “All right, all right, I know you want food,” she said, yawning and stretching languorously.

  Hearing the word food, all the circuits of Tony’s brain lit up and he charged desperately down the stairs to the kitchen, stopping right in front of the fridge.

  She descended the stairs carefully. Inside the cottage still hovered the dim, latent light that preceded dawn and, looking out the living room window, she saw the first rays of sunrise diluting the darkness with gorgeous shades of red, yellow, grey, blue and an entire palette of combinations between them. She prepared an instant coffee, watching the extraordinary spectacle of brightness and color explosions with which a new day debuted.

  Although she had a few basic supplies, Clara decided she needed to go shopping and, grabbing a small notebook, a pen and the huge coffee mug, she went out in the garden. Sitting cross-legged at the twig table, she put together a grocery list, while her companion ran delightedly through the grass, conscientiously marking his new territory.

  In spite of the fact that Rose’s store offered a large range of products, Clara decided to drive the thirty miles to the city, both for shopping, and to explore the area.

  “Honey, I’m sorry, but you’ll be alone for the next few hours,” she addressed her dog, who was crawling at her feet.

  Leaving the back door open for him, Clara dressed and, taking her shoulder bag, she headed to the door.

  On the way to the parking lot, in front of the store, she saw Rose talking to an old man. He was of medium build, dressed in a grey shirt, trousers and wearing a straw hat. When she reached them, Rose asked:

  “Well, how did you sleep? You look a little better than yesterday.”

  Choosing to be amused, rather than offended, Clara answered:

  “Excellent, Mrs. Rose, thank you for asking. I’m going to the city.”

  “Call me Rose. Stop mistress-ing me. This is Mr. Garcia,” she introduced the old man, who had remained silent during the exchange.

  He had a gentle-looking face, on which time and pains known only by him had carved deep lines, but without diminishing the nostalgic, kind expressivity in the pale blue eyes.

  “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Miss,” he said to Clara, gallantly kissing her hand after removing his hat.

  “Likewise, Mr. Garcia. I’m Clara DeVine,” she answered smiling.

  “Tonight, we’d like to invite you to a barbecue on the lake shore. Marie and Robert will also be there. What do you think?” Rose asked her.

  “Wow, I would love to,” answered the young woman, pleasantly surprised by the informal spontaneity of the invitation. “Thanks! I’ll see you later!”

  So saying, Clara got into her car and started the engine.

  The drive to the city was a delight on the highway bordered by vegetation. The sunny day, the fragrant fresh morning air, the softly playing radio and the fact that she had the road almost only to herself gave her a feeling of joy, so she was all but sorry when she reached her destination.

  Although it wasn’t located very far from her freshly discovered refuge, the metropolis seemed just as well to be on another planet, a hyper-populated one, so the young woman armed herself with patience while browsing the shops, searching the articles from the list she had quickly put together that morning. Typically female, the impossibility of resisting temptations presented in the form of clothes, jewelry, perfumes and other paraphernalia charged her with a few extra bags and not exactly insignificant bills, but Clara decided she deserved every indulgence.

  After two hours of infernal traffic, pollution and shopping congestion, she stopped for an iced drink on one of the many terraces which decorated the city’s center, choos
ing the one whose main attraction was an artesian fountain shaped like a water lily with dozens of petals. From between them, water gushed, cooling the ambient from a well-calculated distance. Sitting in the shadow, she relaxed watching the spectacle of the drops which undulated graciously, dancing on the clear background of pretty clouds. The water remodeled itself in an almost poetic ascent, reaching the fluid apogee of each parabola, and then returning to its original state, in a permanent rebirthing.

  An unknown sensor of her instinct became aware of the man heading towards her table even before she turned her gaze in his direction. He would have caught her attention anywhere, but when her brain processed the information generated by this apparition and turned it into recognition, an inexpressible sensation of heat and emotion formed in her solar plexus and rapidly propagated in her entire being.

  Not a twitch of his expression betrayed that he was also seized by the same intense and somewhat contradictory feelings, but Colin felt his pulse unusually accelerated when he said, with the calm and deeply masculine voice she used to know so well:

  “I’ve always liked how you looked dressed in red...”

  In all the years she had known him, Colin had always had that direct, intense and arrogant stare that seemed to playfully suggest the illicit knowledge of his interlocutor’s most intimate secrets. Often, Clara had found herself intimidated and thoroughly analyzed by those extremely dark and expressive eyes, with equally dark and well-defined eyebrows.

  They had been acquainted for over ten years and, although there had always been a powerful attraction between them, because of the circumstances, they had never had the chance to explore or exploit that mutual tacit interest. Even if time and experience could have urged her to see him through the filter of a slightly critical maturity, the athletic presence, the tanned skin and the short, military haircut stirred her senses just like in the old times.